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THEY  REACHED  QUITE  A  HIGH  BRANCH  IN  THE  APPLE  TREE. 
Frontispiece.  page  IJ4 


TALES  OF 
A  POULTRY  FARM 

BY 

CLARA  DILLINGHAM  PIERSON 

Author  of  "Among  the  Meadow  People,"  "  Dooryard  Stories,"  etc. 


NEW    YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON  AND  COMPANY 

JI    WEST    TWENTY-THIRD    STREET 


Copyright 
E.  P.  DUTTON  &  CO. 


Published,  September,  1904 


Tlbe  *ntcfterbocfter  press,  Hew 


TO   MY   LITTLE   SONS 

HAROLD  AND  HOWARD 

THIS    BOOK 
IS    AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED 


CONTENTS 


PACK 

THE  FARM  IS  SOLD        .....  I 
THE  NEW  OWNER  COMES       .            .            .            -17 

THE  FIRST  SPRING  CHICKENS  ARE  HATCHED  30 

THE  MAN  BUILDS  A  POULTRY  HOUSE     .            .  46 

THE  PEKIN  DUCK  STEALS  A  NEST            .            .  60 

THE  NEW  NESTS  AND  THE  NEST-EGGS               .  77 

THE  WHITE  PLYMOUTH  ROCKS  COME     .            .  86 

THE  TURKEY  CHICKS  ARE  HATCHED       .            .  99 

THREE  CHICKENS  RUN  AWAY          .            .            .  114 
THE  THREE  RUNAWAYS  BECOME  ILL     .            .12$ 

THE  YOUNG  COCK  AND  THE  EAGLE         .            .  134 

THE  GUINEA-FOWLS  COME  AND  GO         .            .  145 

THE  GEESE  AND  THE  BABY              .            .            .  I$8 

THE  FOWLS  HAVE  A  JOKE  PLAYED  ON  THEM  169 

THE  LITTLE  GIRLS  GIVE  A  PARTY  182 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGB 

"  COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO !"    SAID    THE    YOUNG 

COCK      .......          26 

RETURNED  WITH  THE  BABY  IN  HIS  ARMS       .         37 
SHE  FOLLOWED,  QUACKING  ANXIOUSLY          .         72 
TOOK    THE    NEW-COMERS    OUT,    ONE    AT    A 

TIME       .......          88 

THE  HAPPY  TURKEY  MOTHER  PAUSED  ON 

HER  WAY    .     .     .     .     .     .113 

A  LARGE    DARK  BIRD  SWOOPING  DOWN  .       142 

THEY    REACHED    QUITE    A    HIGH    BRANCH    IN 

THE  APPLE  TREE — Frontispiece     .         .154 

"S-S-S-S-S!"  REPEATED  THE  GANDER  166 


VJ1 


INTRODUCTION 

MY  DEAR  LITTLE  READERS  : — I  have  often 
wondered  why  there  were  not  more  stories 
written  about  Chickens  and  their  friends,  and 
now  I  am  glad  that  there  have  been  so  few, 
for  I  have  greatly  enjoyed  writing  some  for 
you.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  I  cared  for  my 
father's  Chickens  when  I  was  a  little  girl? 
That  was  one  of  my  duties,  and  the  most 
pleasant  of  all.  It  was  not  until  I  was  older 
that  I  became  acquainted  with  Ducks,  Geese, 
and  Turkeys,  and  I  always  wish  that  I  might 
have  lived  on  a  poultry  farm  like  the  one  of 
which  I  have  written,  for  then  I  could  have 
learned  much  more  than  I  did. 

You  must  not  think  that  I  understand 
no  language  but  English.  I  learned  Chicken- 
talk  when  I  was  very  young ;  and  in  the  fall, 


x  Introduction 

when  the  Quails  wander  through  the  stubble- 
fields  near  my  home,  I  have  many  visits  with 
them,  calling  back  and  forth  "Bob  White! 
Bob  White!"  and  other  agreeable  things 
which  they  like  to  hear.  My  little  boys  can 
talk  exactly  like  Chickens,  and  sometimes 
they  pretend  that  they  are  Chickens,  while 
I  talk  Turkey  to  them. 

When  you  have  a  chance,  you  must  learn 
these  languages.  They  are  often  very  useful 
to  one.  My  friend,  who  drives  in  his  Hens 
by  imitating  the  warning  cry  of  a  Cock,  had 
been  a  teacher  in  a  college  for  several  years 
before  he  studied  poultry-talk,  and  it  helped 
him  greatly. 

You  see,  one  must  learn  much  outside  of 
school,  as  well  as  inside,  in  order  to  be  truly 
well  educated.  You  should  never  look  at 
poultry  and  say,  "  Why,  they  are  only  Hens !" 
or  "  Why,  they  are  only  Ducks !' '  Quite  likely 
when  they  look  at  you  they  may  be  thinking, 
"Why,  they  are  only  boys!"  or  "Why,  they 
are  only  girls!"  Yet  if  you  are  gentle  and 
care  for  them,  you  and  they  will  learn  to 


Introduction  xi 

think  a  great  deal  of  each  other,  and  you  will 

win  new  friends  among  the  feathered  people. 

Your  friend, 

CLARA  D.  PIERSON. 

STANTON,  MICHIGAN, 

March  21,  1904. 


THE  FARM  IS  SOLD 

"  VfOU  stupid  creature!"  cackled  the 
1  Brown  Hen,  as  she  scrambled  out  of 
the  driveway.  "  Don't  you  know  any  better 
than  to  come  blundering  along  when  a  body 
is  in  the  middle  of  a  fine  dust  bath?  How 
would  you  like  to  have  me  come  trotting 
down  the  road,  just  as  you  were  nicely 
sprawled  out  in  it  with  your  feathers  full  of 
dust?  I  think  you  would  squawk  too!" 

The  Brown  Hen  drew  her  right  foot  up 
under  her  ruffled  plumage  and  turned  her 
head  to  one  side,  looking  severely  at  Bobs  and 
Snip  as  they  backed  the  lumber  wagon  up  to 
the  side  porch.  "  I  say,"  she  repeated,  "  that 
you  would  squawk  too!" 

The  Brown  Hen's  friends  had  been  forced 
to  run  away  when  she  did,  but  they  had  al- 
ready found  another  warm  place  in  the  dust 


2  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

and  were  rolling  and  fluttering  happily  there. 
' '  Come  over  here, ' '  they  called  to  her.  ' '  This 
is  just  as  good  a  place  as  the  other.  Come 
over  and  wallow  here." 

"No!"  answered  the  Brown  Hen,  putting 
down  her  right  foot  and  drawing  up  her  left. 
"  No !  My  bath  is  spoiled  for  to-day.  There 
is  no  use  in  trying  to  take  comfort  when  you 
are  likely  to  be  run  over  any  minute."  She 
turned  her  head  to  the  other  side  and  looked 
severely  at  Bobs  and  Snip  with  that  eye.  The 
Brown  Hen  prided  herself  on  her  way  of  look- 
ing sternly  at  people  who  displeased  her. 
She  always  wished,  however,  that  she  could 
look  at  them  with  both  eyes  at  once.  She 
thought  that  if  this  were  possible  she  could 
stop  their  nonsense  more  quickly. 

Snip  could  not  say  anything  just  then. 
He  was  trying  to  be  polite,  and  it  took  all  his 
strength.  He  was  young  and  wanted  to  have 
a  good  Horse  laugh.  He  could  not  help 
thinking  how  a  Horse  would  look  covered 
with  feathers  and  sprawling  in  the  middle  of 
the  road.  Of  course  the  Brown  Hen  had  not 


The  Farm  is  Sold  3 

meant  it  in  exactly  that  way,  but  was  as  un- 
lucky as  most  people  are  when  they  lose  their 
tempers,  and  amused  the  very  people  whom 
she  most  wanted  to  scold. 

Bobs  was  a  steady  old  gray  Horse,  and  he 
was  used  to  the  Brown  Hen.  "  I  am  sorry 
that  we  had  to  disturb  you,"  he  said  pleas- 
antly. "  You  looked  very  comfortable  and  I 
tried  to  turn  out,  but  the  Farmer  held  the 
lines  so  tightly  that  I  could  not.  The  bit 
cut  into  my  mouth  until  I  could  not  stand  it. 
You  see  he  wanted  to  back  the  wagon  up 
right  here,  and  so  he  could  n't  let  us  turn  out. 
We'  11  do  better  next  time  if  we  can." 

The  Brown  Hen  let  both  her  feet  down  and 
took  a  few  steps  forward.  "  If  you  could  n't 
help  it,  of  course  I  won't  say  anything  more," 
she  remarked,  and  walked  off. 

"  P-p-p-p-p-p-p-p !"  said  Snip,  blowing  the 
air  out  between  his  lips.  "Why  did  you 
bother  to  tell  her  that?  She  is  so  fussy  and 
cross  about  everything  that  I  wouldn't  tell 
her  I  was  sorry.  Why  does  n't  she  just  find 
another  place,  as  the  other  Hens  do? " 


4  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

"  Snip,"  said  Bobs,  "  I  used  to  talk  in  that 
way  when  I  was  a  Colt,  but  I  find  that  it 
makes  things  a  good  deal  pleasanter  around 
the  place  if  I  take  a  little  trouble  to  say '  I  am 
sorry'  when  I  have  to  disturb  people.  You 
know  how  the  Farmer  does  at  noon?  He 
comes  into  the  stall  when  I  have  finished  my 
dinner,  and  he  gives  me  a  pat  and  says, '  Come 
along,  old  fellow.  We  'd  rather  be  lazy,  but 
we  have  to  work,'  Do  you  think  I  'd  hang 
back  then  ?  I  tell  you  when  I  want  to  balk. 
It  is  when  the  Hired  Man  leads  me  out  with  a 
jerk.  That  makes  me  kick." 

"I  wonder  if  she  will  take  her  dust  bath 
now?"  said  Snip. 

"Oh  no,"  answered  Bobs.  "Any  other 
Hen  on  the  farm  would,  but  the  Brown  Hen 
will  not.  She  will  stalk  around  all  day  think- 
ing what  a  hard  time  she  has  and  talking 
about  it,  but  she  won't  take  her  dust  bath, 
not  although  every  other  fowl  on  the  place 
should  wallow  beside  her." 

"Then  I  don't  see  what  good  it  did  for 
you  to  tell  her  you  were  sorry,"  said  Snip, 


The  Farm  is  Sold  5 

who  never  liked  to  confess  that  he  was 
wrong. 

"  It  did  a  lot  of  good,"  said  Bobs,  steadily. 
"  Before  that  she  was  fussy  and  cross.  Now 
she  is  only  fussy.  Besides,  I  really  had  to  say 
something  to  her,  and  if  it  had  not  been  pleas- 
ant it  would  have  had  to  be  unpleasant,  and 
then  there  would  have  been  two  cross  people 
instead  of  one.  Quite  likely  there  would 
have  been  even  more  before  the  day  was 
over,  for  if  each  of  us  had  gone  on  being  cross 
we  would  have  made  more  of  our  friends 
cross,  and  there  is  no  telling  where  it  would 
have  ended.  I'd  feel  mean,  anyhow,  if  I 
lost  my  temper  with  a  Hen.  Imagine  a  great 
big  fellow  like  me  getting  cross  with  a  little 
creature  like  her,  who  has  only  two  legs,  and 
can't  get  any  water  into  her  stomach  without 
tipping  her  head  back  for  each  billful." 

Snip  had  wanted  to  ask  many  more  ques- 
tions, but  so  much  began  to  happen  that  he 
quite  forgot  about  the  Brown  Hen.  The 
Farmer  and  the  Hired  Man  had  gone  into  the 
house,  and  now  they  came  out,  carrying  a 


6  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

cook-stove  between  them.  This  they  put 
into  the  wagon,  covering  it  with  rag  carpet. 
The  Farmer's  Wife  came  to  the  door  with 
rolled-up  sleeves  and  a  towel  tied  over  her 
head.  She  looked  tired  but  happy.  In  her 
hands  she  carried  the  legs  of  the  stove, 
which  she  tucked  into  the  oven. 

This  was  a  great  event  to  happen  on  the 
quiet  farm.  Brown  Bess  and  her  new  Calf 
came  close  to  the  fence  which  separated  their 
pasture  from  the  driveway,  and  stood  look- 
ing on.  The  Pigs  and  their  mother  pressed 
hard  against  the  walls  of  their  pen  on  the  two 
sides  from  which  anything  could  be  seen. 
Each  of  the  nine  Pigs  thought  that  he  had  the 
poorest  place  for  peeping,  so  he  wriggled  and 
pushed  and  pushed  and  wriggled  to  get  a 
better  one,  and  it  ended  in  none  of  them  see- 
ing anything,  because  they  were  not  still 
long  enough.  Their  mother,  being  so  much 
taller  than  they,  had  a  crack  all  to  herself  and 
could  see  very  well.  "  I  don't  understand 
why  they  want  to  do  that,"  she  sighed,  as  she 
lay  down  for  another  nap.  "  It  was  after  the 


The  Farm  is  Sold  7 

snow  came  that  they  brought  the  stove  out 
here.  But  you  can  never  tell  what  the  people 
who  live  in  houses  and  wear  clothing  will  do 
next !  They  really  seem  to  like  to  pick  things 
up  and  carry  them  around.  They  are  so 
silly." 

The  Gander  came  along  with  his  wife  and 
the  other  Geese.  He  ate  grass  while  they 
visited  with  the  Hens  in  the  road.  The  Hens 
told  him  all  they  knew,  even  what  the  Barred 
Plymouth  Rock  Hen  had  seen  when  she 
walked  along  the  porch  and  peeped  in  at  the 
open  kitchen  door.  Then  the  Geese  waddled 
back  to  where  the  Gander  was  and  told  him 
all  the  Hens  had  told  them.  He  listened  to 
it,  asking  a  good  many  questions,  and  then 
said  that  it  was  just  like  Geese  to  be  so  inter- 
ested in  other  people's  business.  That  made 
them  feel  quite  ashamed,  so  they  ate  a  little 
grass  to  make  themselves  feel  better,  and 
then  stood  around  to  watch  the  loading  of  the 
wagon. 

Besides  the  stove,  the  kitchen  and  dining- 
room  furniture  was  put  in,  with  a  few  of  the 


8  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

largest  plants  from  the  sitting-room,  and 
when  the  Farmer  drove  off  he  had  the  clock 
beside  him  on  the  seat,  the  churn  between 
his  knees,  and  a  big  bundle  of  some  sort  on 
his  lap. 

It  suddenly  seemed  very  dull  on  the  farm. 
One  of  the  Doves  flew  along  above  the  team 
for  a  while  and  brought  back  the  news  that 
they  had  turned  toward  town.  There  was 
nothing  now  to  be  done  but  to  wait  until 
they  returned  and  then  ask  as  many  questions 
as  possible  of  the  Horses. 

"  I  believe  that  the  family  is  going  to  move 
into  town,"  said  the  White  Cock,  who  always 
expected  sad  things  to  happen.  Even  when 
there  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  he  was  sure 
that  it  would  rain  the  next  day.  That  was 
probably  because  he  was  careless  about  what 
he  ate.  The  Shanghai  Cock  said  that  he  did 
not  take  half  gravel  enough,  and  any  sensible 
fowl  will  tell  you  that  he  cannot  be  truly 
happy  unless  he  eats  enough  gravel. 

"What  will  ever  become  of  us,"  asked  the 
Hens,  "if  the  family  moves  to  town?  It  is 


The  Farm  is  Sold  9 

their  business  to  stay  here  and  take  care  of 
us." 

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!"  crowed  the  Young 
Cock.  "Let  them  go.  I  can  have  a  good 
enough  time  in  the  fields  finding  my  own 
food." 

The  Pullets  looked  at  him  admiringly. 
"  But  who  will  take  care  of  us?"  they  asked. 

"  I  will,"  said  he,  holding  his  head  very  high. 
And  that  was  exactly  what  they  wanted 
him  to  say,  although  each  of  them  would 
rather  have  had  him  say  it  to  her  alone. 

"  There  will  be  nobody  left  to  set  traps  for 
the  Rats  and  the  Weasels,"  said  an  old  Hen, 
who  had  seen  much  of  the  ways  of  poultry- 
yards.  "  And  if  our  Chickens  have  the  gapes, 
who  will  make  horse-hair  loops  and  pull  the 
little  Worms  out  of  their  throats?  I  have 
always  said  that  it  was  well  to  have  people 
living  in  the  farmhouse." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Brown  Hen,  "  I  hope  that 
if  they  go  they  will  take  the  Horses  with 
them.  There  is  no  pleasure  in  life  when  one 
is  all  the  time  afraid  of  being  run  over.  You 


io  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

know  what  happened  this  morning,  when  I  had 
started  to  take  my  dust  bath.  I  spoke  to 
the  Horses  about  it  afterward,  and  Bobs  was 
very  polite,  but  that  did  n't  give  me  the  bath 
which  he  and  that  silly  young  Snip  had 
spoiled.  And  I  do  not  feel  at  all  like  myself 
without  a  bath." 

"Take  it  now  then,"  said  the  Shanghai 
Cock,  who  never  bothered  to  be  polite. 
"  You  ought  to  be  able  to  get  it  in  while  the 
team  is  going  to  town  and  back." 

"No,"  said  the  Brown  Hen,  firmly,  "it  is 
too  far  past  the  time  when  I  should  have 
taken  it.  I  was  never  one  of  those  Hens  who 
can  wallow  from  morning  until  night.  I  need 
my  bath  and  I  ought  to  have  it,  but  when  I 
have  been  kept  from  it  so  long  I  simply  have 
to  go  without  it." 

The  other  Hens  said  nothing.  In  nearly 
every  poultry-yard  there  is  one  fowl  who  is  so 
fussy  as  to  make  everybody  else  uncomfort- 
able. The  rest  become  used  to  it  after  a 
while  and  do  not  answer  back  when  she  talks 
so. 


The  Farm  is  Sold  1 1 

In  the  house,  the  Farmer's  Wife  was  hurry- 
ing to  and  fro,  showing  the  Hired  Man  where 
to  put  this  or  calling  him  to  lift  that,  and 
every  little  while  something  else  would  be 
brought  out  and  placed  on  the  side  porch. 
Once  a  basket  of  wax  fruit  was  set  on  a  table 
there.  The  glass  which  usually  covered  it 
was  put  to  one  side,  and  the  Young  Cock  who 
had  promised  to  care  for  the  Pullets  flew  up 
to  peck  at  it.  He  knew  it  was  not  right,  but 
he  got  one  hurried  billful  from  the  side  of  the 
reddest  peach  just  as  the  Hired  Man  threw 
an  old  shoe  at  him. 

"  How  does  it  taste?"  cried  the  Geese,  who 
were  still  hanging  around  to  find  out  what 
they  could.  The  Young  Cock  did  not  reply, 
but  wiped  his  bill  on  the  grass  for  a  long  time. 
He  feared  he  would  never  be  able  to  open  it 
again.  The  peaches  which  he  had  eaten  the 
fall  before  had  not  stuck  his  bill  together  in 
this  way,  and  he  was  now  more  sure  than  ever 
that  the  people  who  lived  in  houses  did  not 
know  very  much.  "Such  fruit  should  be 
thrown  away,"  he  said.  "  It  must  be  eating 


1 2  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

such  peaches  as  this  which  keeps  the  Boy 
chewing  so  much  of  the  time.  I  have 
watched  him,  and  he  carries  something  in  his 
mouth  which  he  chews  and  chews  and  chews, 
but  never  swallows.  Once  his  mother  made 
him  throw  it  away,  and  I  should  think  she 
would.  He  waggled  his  jaws  very  much  like 
a  Cow."  Then  he  strolled  off  toward  the 
woods  to  get  away  from  the  other  fowls. 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  team 
came  back  drawing  the  empty  wagon.  All 
the  poultry  came  sauntering  toward  the  barn, 
making  excuses  as  they  came.  "  Too  hot  out 
in  the  sunshine,"  said  the  Brown  Hen.  '.'I 
really  cannot  stand  it  any  longer." 

"The  Geese  would  come  up  to  the  barn," 
said  the  Gander,  "so  I  thought  I  might  as 
well  come  along." 

"  Should  n't  wonder  if  they  would  throw 
out  some  corn  when  they  get  through  un- 
harnessing," said  the  Gobbler. 

The  Ducks  never  kept  up  with  the  others, 
and  they  were  close  to  the  house  when  Bobs 
and  Snip  stopped  there.  "How  very 


The  Farm  is  Sold  13 

lucky ! "  they  quacked,  for  they  were  a  truth- 
ful family  and  not  given  to  making  excuses. 
"We  hope  you  will  tell  us  what  all  this 
means.  Are  the  Farmer's  people  moving 
away?" 

"They  are,"  replied  Bobs,  who  was  always 
good  about  giving  a  direct  answer  to  a  direct 
question.  "You  know  the  children  have 
been  staying  in  town  to  go  to  school  ever 
since  last  fall,  and  now  their  father  has  sold 
the  farm  and  is  moving  into  town  to  be  with 
them." 

"  Will  they  take  us  into  town  ?"  asked  the 
Drake. 

' '  Guess  not , ' '  said  Snip.  ' '  They  are  to  live 
over  a  store." 

By  this  time  the  disappointed  ones  who 
had  been  waiting  in  the  barn  came  hurrying 
along  toward  the  house,  where  the  wagon  was 
being  filled  once  more.  It  did  not  take  long 
for  the  Ducks  to  tell  the  news,  and  then  there 
was  great  excitement,  very  great  indeed. 
Brown  Bess  heard  it  and  licked  her  Calf  more 
tenderly  than  ever,  She  knew  that  they 


14  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

could  not  live  over  a  store,  and  she  wondered 
what  would  become  of  them  both. 

In  the  Pig-pen  the  little  Pigs  were  teasing 
their  mother  to  tell  who  would  bring  them 
their  food.  It  was  enough  to  make  her  lose 
her  patience  to  have  nine  children  all  asking 
questions  at  the  same  time,  and  each  saying 
"Why?"  every  time  that  he  was  given  an 
answer.  So  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that 
she  finally  became  cross  and  lay  down  in  the 
corner  with  her  back  to  them,  pretending  to 
be  asleep.  To  tell  the  truth,  she  herself  was 
somewhat  worried.  She  had  often  called  the 
Farmer's  family  silly,  but  she  had  not  minded 
their  habit  of  carrying  things  around,  when 
the  things  that  they  carried  were  pails  full  of 
delicious  food  and  they  were  carrying  them  to 
the  Pig-pen. 

It  was  the  poultry  who  talked  the  longest 
about  the  change,  and  perhaps  this  was  partly 
because  there  were  so  many  of  them  to  talk. 
Poultry  have  a  very  happy  time  on  small 
farms  like  this  one.  It  is  true  that  they 
did  not  have  a  good  house  of  their  own,  and 


The  Farm  is  Sold  15 

they  had  but  little  attention  paid  to  them, 
yet  when  the  cold  winter  was  once  past,  there 
was  all  the  lovely  spring,  summer,  and  fall 
weather  in  which  to  be  happy.  They  were 
not  kept  in  a  yard,  going  wherever  they 
chose,  finding  plenty  to  eat,  and  having  no 
cares,  excepting  that  when  a  Hen  felt  like  it 
she  laid  an  egg.  She  laid  it  wherever  she 
chose,  too,  and  this  was  usually  somewhere 
in  the  barn  or  woodshed.  Sometimes  Hens 
wanted  to  sit,  and  then  they  came  off  after 
a  while  with  broods  of  Chickens.  When  a 
Hen  had  done  that,  she  was  usually  caught 
and  put  under  a  coop  for  a  few  days.  She 
never  liked  that  part  of  it,  and  the  others 
always  told  her  that  if  she  would  hatch  out 
Chickens  she  might  know  what  to  expect. 

The  winters  were  bad,  but  then  the  poultry 
spent  their  whole  time  in  trying  to  be  com- 
fortable and  hardly  ever  bothered  to  lay  eggs, 
so  it  was  an  easy  life  after  all.  No  wonder 
that  they  talked  about  the  change  until  after 
they  went  to  roost.  Although  the  Farmer 
was  not  a  thrifty  man,  he  had  been  kind 


1 6  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

enough  to  the  creatures  on  the  farm,  and 
they  did  not  want  to  go  away  or  belong  to 
any  one  else. 

The  last  word  spoken  was  by  a  black  Hen. 
She  was  not  Black  Spanish  or  black  anything- 
in-particular.  In  fact,  there  was  only  one  of 
the  Hens  who  knew  to  what  breed  she  be- 
longed. That  was  the  Barred  Plymouth 
Rock  Hen,  and  it  made  her  very  proud.  The 
Black  Hen  had  a  temper,  and  had  even  been 
known  to  peck  at  the  Farmer's  Wife.  "Do 
you  know  what  I  will  do  if  a  new  Farmer 
tries  to  make  me  lay  my  eggs  where  he 
wishes?"  she  said.  "  I  may  have  to  lay  the 
eggs  there,  but  I  will  smash  every  one  of  them 
if  I  do." 


THE  NEW  OWNER  COMES 

ON  the  morning  after  the  family  left,  a 
pale  and  quiet  Man,  wearing  glasses, 
came  out  in  a  platform  wagon  to  look  over 
the  farm.  He  had  been  there  but  a  short 
time  when  two  great  loads  of  furniture  ap- 
peared down  the  road.  Then  the  Man  took 
off  his  coat  and  helped  the  drivers  carry  it  all 
into  the  little  farmhouse.  The  fowls,  who 
happened  to  be  near  enough,  noticed  that 
the  Man  never  lifted  anything  which  seemed 
to  be  heavy.  They  noticed,  too,  that  his 
hands  were  rather  small  and  very  white. 
Still  he  acted  as  though  he  expected  to  live 
on  the  place.  With  the  others  helping  him, 
he  put  down  two  carpets  and  set  up  two 
stoves. 

The  other  Men  drove  away,  leaving  the 
single  Horse  and  the  platform  wagon.     The 

2 

17 


1 8  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

Man  washed  his  hands,  put  on  his  coat,  and 
brought  a  pasteboard  box  out  onto  the  side 
porch.  He  opened  it  carefully,  took  out  a 
glass,  and  drew  up  a  bucketful  of  water  at  the 
well.  He  filled  his  glass  and  carried  it  back 
to  the  porch.  Then  he  began  to  eat  his 
dinner. 

All  the  farm  people  had  been  properly 
cared  for  that  morning  by  the  Farmer  from 
across  the  road,  and  felt  sure  that  he  would 
not  see  them  wanting  food,  so  it  was  not  just 
a  wish  for  something  to  eat  which  made  every 
creature  there  come  quietly  to  a  place  near 
the  side  porch.  They  were  certain  that  they 
belonged  to  this  Man,  and  they  wanted  to 
find  out  what  he  was  like. 

"I  hope  he  is  n't  expecting  to  milk  me," 
said  Brown  Bess.  "  I  don't  believe  he  could 
draw  a  drop  from  my  udders,  and  he  would 
probably  set  the  stool  down  on  the  wrong 
side  anyhow." 

Bobs  and  Snip  were  no  longer  on  the  farm, 
having  gone  to  town,  to  work  there  with  their 
old  master,  so  the  Hog  was  the  next  to  speak. 


The  New  Owner  Comes  19 

"I  hope  he  won't  eat  that  kind  of  dinner 
every  day,"  said  she.  "  It  looks  to  me  as 
though  there  would  be  no  scraps  left  to  go 
into  my  pail." 

"Ugh!  Ugh!  Stingy!"  grunted  the  little 
Pigs.  "  He  wants  it  all  for  himself!"  They 
did  not  stop  to  think  that  every  time  food  was 
emptied  into  their  trough,  each  of  them  acted 
as  though  he  wanted  every  drop  and  crumb  of 
it  for  himself. 

The  Gobbler  strutted  up  and  down  near 
the  porch,  with  his  feathers  on  end  and  his 
wings  dragging.  "  There  is  just  one  thing  I 
like  about  the  Man,"  said  he.  "  He  does  not 
wear  a  red  tie." 

.  "  I  can't  tell  exactly  what  is  the  matter," 
said  the  Gander,  "but  he  is  certainly  very 
different  from  any  Man  I  ever  saw  before.  I 
think  he  must  belong  to  a  different  breed. 
The  things  he  has  on  his  feet  are  much  blacker 
and  shinier  than  the  Men  around  here  wear, 
and  that  stiff  and  shiny  white  thing  around 
his  neck  is  much  higher.  I  hope  he  is  not 
stupid.  I  cannot  bear  stupid  people." 


2O  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

"Neither  can  we,"  murmured  the  Geese. 
"  We  really  cannot  bear  them." 

"  I  fear  he  does  not  know  very  much,"  said 
the  Drake,  sadly,  "  although  I  must  say  that  I 
like  his  face.  He  looks  good  and  kind,  not 
at  all  as  though  he  would  ever  throw  stones  at 
people  for  the  fun  of  seeing  them  waddle 
faster.  What  I  do  not  like  is  the  way  in 
which  he  acted  about  getting  his  water.  Any 
Duck  knows  that  you  can  tell  most  about 
people  by  the  way  they  take  water.  The  old 
gourd  which  the  Farmer  and  his  family  used  so 
long,  hung  right  on  the  chain-pump,  and  yet 
this  Man  got  a  glass  and  filled  it.  He  did 
not  even  drink  from  it  as  soon  as  it  was  full, 
but  filled  and  emptied  it  three  times  before 
drinking.  That  is  not  what  I  call  good 
sense." 

"Did  you  notice  how  he  put  on  his  coat 
before  he  began  to  eat?"  asked  the  White 
Cock.  "I  never  saw  our  Farmer  do  that  ex- 
cept in  very  cold  weather,  and  I  have  been 
close  to  the  kitchen  door  a  great  many  times 
when  they  sat  down  to  the  table." 


The  New  Owner  Comes  21 

"  It  must  be  that  he  was  not  very  hungry," 
said  one  of  the  Hens,  "or  he  would  never 
have  taken  so  much  time  to  begin  eating. 
Besides,  you  can  see  that  he  was  not,  by  the 
size  of  his  mouthfuls.  He  did  not  take  a 
single  bite  as  big  as  he  could,  and  you  will 
never  make  me  believe  that  a  person  is  hun- 
gry when  he  eats  in  that  way."  This  was  the 
Hen  who  usually  got  the  largest  piece  from 
the  food-pan  and  swallowed  it  whole  to  make 
sure  of  it,  before  any  of  the  other  fowls  could 
overtake  her  and  get  it  away. 

Then  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen 
spoke.  "  I  like  him,"  she  said.  "  I  am  sure 
that  he  belongs  to  a  different  breed,  but  I 
think  it  is  a  good  one.  I  remember  hearing 
somebody  say,  when  I  was  a  Chicken,  that  it 
was  well  for  fowls  to  have  a  change  of  ground 
once  in  a  while,  and  that  it  would  make  them 
stronger.  I  believe  that  is  why  he  is  here. 
You  can  tell  by  watching  him  work  that  he  is 
not  strong,  and  he  may  be  here  for  a  change 
of  ground.  I  shall  certainly  befriend  him, 
whatever  the  rest  of  you  do.  We  people  of 


22  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

fine  families  should  stand  by  each  other." 
Then  she  strolled  over  toward  the  Man,  lifting 
her  feet  in  her  most  aristocratic  way  and 
perking  her  head  prettily. 

The  Man  smiled.  He  broke  a  piece  from 
the  slice  of  bread  which  he  was  eating,  and 
sprinkled  it  lightly  with  salt  from  a  tiny  bot- 
tle. This  piece  he  divided  into  two  portions 
and  held  one  out  at  arm's  length  toward  the 
Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen.  She  had  never 
before  been  invited  to  eat  from  anybody's 
hand,  and  she  was  really  afraid  to  do  it.  Her 
skin  felt  creepy,  as  though  her  feathers  were 
about  to  stand  on  end.  Still,  she  had  just 
said  that  she  meant  to  befriend  the  new  Man, 
and  that  he  and  she  were  of  finer  breeds  than 
most  people.  Here  was  her  chance  to  prove 
her  words,  and  she  was  not  the  sort  of  Hen  to 
show  the  white  feather. 

She  stood  erect  in  all  her  Plymouth  Rock 
dignity,  and  ate  the  bread  in  five  pecks. 
Then  she  stooped  and  wiped  her  bill  daintily 
on  the  grass  at  the  Man's  feet  before  strolling 
away  again. 


The  New  Owner  Comes  23 

You  can  imagine  what  excitement  this 
made  among  the  poultry.  The  Gobbler,  the 
Gander,  and  the  Drake  did  not  wish  to  appear 
too  much  interested,  and  some  of  the  Cocks 
acted  in  the  same  way,  but  the  mothers  and 
sisters  of  the  families  talked  of  nothing  else 
for  a  long  time.  It  is  true  that  the  Barred 
Plymouth  Rock  Hen  had  not  been  very  popu- 
lar on  the  farm,  most  of  the  Hens  insisting 
that  she  put  on  airs,  but  now  they  could  not 
help  admiring  her  courage  and  grace.  Two 
or  three  of  them  even  thought  she  might  be 
right  in  saying  that  it  was  a  good  thing  to 
come  from  a  fine  family.  The  Cocks  had 
never  thought  her  airy.  They  always  told 
the  other  Hens  that  it  was  just  their  notion, 
and  that  she  was  really  a  very  clever  and 
friendly  Hen. 

As  for  the  Man,  he  seemed  much  pleased  by 
what  had  happened.  He  put  his  hat  on  the 
back  of  his  head  and  smiled.  ' '  That  is  a  good 
beginning,"  he  said  to  himself.  "To  eat 
bread  and  salt  together  means  that  we  will 
always  be  friends,  and  I  would  rather  break 


24  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

bread  with  respectable  poultry  than  with 
some  Men  that  I  know." 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  the  Man  harnessed 
his  Horse,  whom  he  called  Brownie,  to  the 
same  platform  wagon  in  which  he  had  come, 
gave  one  parting  look  all  around  the  house 
and  yard,  turned  the  key  in  the  side  door,  and 
drove  off  toward  town.  "What  next?" 
asked  all  the  poultry. 

If  you  had  ever  been  a  Hen  or  a  Duck  or  a 
Turkey  or  a  Goose  (for  although  you  may 
have  acted  like  a  perfect  Goose,  you  probably 
never  have  been  one),  you  would  know  just 
how  worried  the  poultry  on  this  particular 
farm  were,  after  the  new  Man  had  driven 
away  in  the  platform  wagon.  It  seemed 
quite  certain  that  he  had  gone  to  town  to 
bring  out  his  family,  and  it  mattered  a  great 
deal  to  them  what  his  family  were  like.  A 
single  Boy  of  the  wrong  kind  could  make  all 
the  fowls  on  the  place  unhappy,  and  the 
others  agreed  with  the  Gobbler  when  he  said, 
"  There  is  one  thing  worse  than  a  Girl  in  a  red 
dress,  and  that  is  a  Boy  who  throws  stones." 


The  New  Owner  Comes  25 

It  was  a  very  sad  company  which  wandered 
around  the  farmyard,  picking  here  and  there, 
and  really  eating  but  little.  The  White  Cock 
would  keep  talking  about  the  dreadful  things 
which  might  happen,  and  reminded  his 
friends  that  there  might  be  two  Boys,  or 
three,  or  four,  perhaps  even  five  in  the  family ! 
The  other  fowls  soon  tried  to  get  away  from 
him,  and  then  they  were  often  so  unfortunate 
as  to  meet  the  Brown  Hen,  who  was  fussing 
and  worrying  for  fear  the  Man  would  shut  her 
up  in  a  small  yard. 

At  last  the  Shanghai  Cock  lost  his  temper, 
as  he  was  very  apt  to  do,  and  said  that  there 
were  some  fowls  he  would  like  to  have  shut 
up.  This  displeased  both  the  White  Cock 
and  the  Brown  Hen,  because  the  Shanghai 
Cock  had  looked  at  both  of  them  when  he 
spoke,  using  one  eye  for  each,  and  they  did 
not  know  what  to  say.  They  thought  from 
the  mean  little  cackling  laugh  which  the 
others  gave,  that  he  might  have  wished  them 
to  shut  up  their  bills.  Then  they  did  the 
very  best  thing  that  they  could  have  done, 


26  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

going  off  together  to  the  pasture,  where  each 
could  talk  gloomily  to  the  other  without 
annoying  anybody  else. 

When  Brownie  came  jogging  back  to  the 
farm,  the  platform  wagon  looked  very  gay. 
On  the  back  seat  sat  a  pleasant  looking  Wo- 
man with  a  fat  Baby  on  her  lap.  Beside  her 
sat  a  Little  Girl  with  brown  hair.  On  the 
seat  beside  the  Man  sat  another  Little  Girl, 
dressed  exactly  like  the  first  one  and  just  as 
large  as  she,  but  with  golden  hair.  They 
were  all  laughing  and  talking  and  pointing  at 
different  things  as  they  drove  into  the  yard. 

"  It  is  not  much  like  our  other  home,"  said 
the  Man,  as  he  set  the  Baby  on  his  feet  be- 
side the  steps,  and  turned  to  help  the  Woman 
out. 

"That  does  not  matter  if  we  can  be  com- 
fortable and  well  here,"  she  answered  with  a 
smile.  "It  will  be  a  lovely  place  for  the 
children,  and  I  believe  it  will  make  you  strong 
again." 

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!"  said  the  young 
Cock  from  the  top  rail  of  the  fence.  He  did 


'  COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO  !  "  SAID  THE  YOUNQ  COCK.       Page  26 


The  New  Owner  Comes  27 

it  only  to  show  off,  but  the  children,  who  had 
never  lived  on  a  farm,  and  so  could  not  under- 
stand poultry-talk  very  well,  felt  sure  that  he 
said,  "How-do-you-all-do?"  and  thought 
him  exceedingly  polite.  The  Baby  started 
after  him  at  once,  and  fell  flat  before  he  had 
taken  six  steps. 

The  Man,  the  Woman,  and  the  two  Little 
Girls  all  started  to  pick  up  the  Baby,  who 
was  so  wound  up  in  his  long  cloak  that  he 
could  not  rise.  Brownie  looked  around  in 
a  friendly  way  and  stood  perfectly  still,  in- 
stead of  edging  off  toward  the  barn  as  some 
Horses  would  have  done,  while  the  Baby  just 
rolled  over  on  his  back  and  laughed. 

' '  Gobble-gobble-gobble !' '  said  the  Gobbler. 
"  I  think  this  family  will  suit  us  very  well." 

The  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  was  too 
polite  a  fowl  ever  to  say  "  I  told  you  so,"  but 
she  stood  very  straight  and  chuckled  softly 
to  herself,  so  the  rest  could  know  that  she  was 
pleased  with  what  she  saw,  and  felt  more  cer- 
tain than  ever  that  the  Man  and  his  family 
were  no  common  people. 


28  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

All  the  family  went  to  the  barn  with  the 
Man  while  he  unharnessed  Brownie  and  gave 
him  his  supper.  The  children  had  a  happy 
time  on  the  hay,  and,  before  they  went  into 
the  house  together,  the  Man  put  some  corn 
in  a  pan  and  let  them  scatter  it  by  the  door 
for  the  poultry.  "They  have  been  running 
loose  in  the  fields,"  he  said,  "and  they  may 
not  need  it  all,  but  we  will  give  it  to  them 
anyway,  and  to-morrow  I  will  study  my  book 
of  directions  and  see  how  they  should  be  fed 
at  this  season." 

The  children  scattered  the  corn,  the  Wo- 
man kneeling  down  with  her  arm  around  the 
Baby,  to  keep  him  from  falling  over  each 
time  that  he  threw  a  few  kernels.  The 
Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  was  the  first  to 
come  forward  to  pick  it  up,  and  the  Man  told 
his  wife  how  he  and  she  had  eaten  bread  and 
salt  at  noon. 

Then  the  Woman  said :  "  Come,  we  must  go 
into  the  house!  I  should  have  been  there 
working  long  ago,  but  I  wanted  to  see  the 
children  make  friends  with  the  poultry." 


The  New  Owner  Comes  29 

As  the  door  of  the  house  closed  behind  its 
new  inmates,  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen 
could  not  help  looking  at  the  Shanghai  Cock. 
"Yes,"  he  said,  for  he  knew  what  she  meant, 
"  I  like  your  friends  very  much.  They  seem 
to  have  some  sense."  Then  the  Barred 
Plymouth  Rock  Hen  was  satisfied,  for  she  was 
fond  of  the  Shanghai  Cock,  and  praise  from 
him  was  praise  indeed. 


THE  FIRST  SPRING  CHICKENS  ARE 
HATCHED 

IT  was  only  a  few  days  after  the  new  family 
settled  in  the  house  that  the  Man  drove 
out  from  town  with  a  queer-looking  box-like 
thing  in  his  light  wagon.  This  he  took  out 
and  left  on  the  ground  beside  the  cellarway. 
When  he  had  unharnessed  Brownie  and  let 
him  loose  in  the  pasture,  he  came  back  and 
took  the  crate  off  from  the  box.  Then  the 
poultry  who  were  standing  around  saw  that 
it  was  not  at  all  an  ordinary  box.  Indeed,  as 
soon  as  the  Man  had  fastened  a  leg  to  each 
corner,  they  thought  it  rather  more  like  a  fat 
table  than  a  box. 

While  the  Man  was  examining  it,  he  kept 

turning  over  the  pages  of  a  small  book  which 

he  took  from  some  place  inside  the  table. 

The  Geese  thought  it  quite  a  senseless  habit 

30 


First  Spring  Chickens  are  Hatched  31 

of  the  Man's,  this  looking  at  books  when  he 
was  at  work.  They  had  never  seen  the  Far- 
mer do  so,  and  they  did  not  understand 
it.  When  Geese  do  not  understand  any- 
thing, you  know,  they  always  decide  that  it 
is  very  silly  and  senseless.  There  are  a  great 
many  things  which  they  do  not  understand, 
so,  of  course,  there  are  a  great  many  which 
they  think  extremely  silly. 

The  Little  Girls  and  their  mother  stood 
beside  the  Man  as  he  looked  at  the  book  and 
the  fat  new  table.  He  said  something  to  one 
of  them  and  she  went  into  the  house.  When 
she  came  out  she  had  a  small  basketful  of 
eggs.  -  The  Man  took  some  and  put  them  into 
one  part  of  the  table.  Then  he  took  them 
out  again  and  put  them  into  the  basket. 
That  disgusted  the  Brown  Hen,  who  was 
watching  it  all. 

"I  am  always  fair,"  she  said,  "and  I  am 
willing  to  say  that  I  have  been  treated  very 
well  by  this  Man,  very  well  indeed,  but  it  is 
most  distressing  and  unpleasant  to  a  sensi- 
ble fowl  like  myself  to  have  to  see  so  much 


32  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

utter  foolishness  on  a  farm  where  I  have 
spent  my  life." 

"Then  why  don't  you  shut  your  eyes?" 
asked  the  Shanghai  Cock,  with  his  usual 
rudeness,  and  after  that  the  Brown  Hen 
could  say  nothing  more.  This  was  a  great 
relief  to  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen, 
who  did  not  at  all  understand  what  was  going 
on,  but  would  have  tried  to  defend  the  Man  if 
the  Brown  Hen  had  asked  her  about  it. 

After  a  while  the  Woman  helped  the  Man 
carry  the  queer-looking  object  into  the  cellar, 
and  then  the  poultry  strolled  off  to  talk  it  all 
over.  They  heard  nothing  more  about  the 
fat  table  until  the  next  morning.  Then  the 
Gander,  who  had  been  standing  for  a  long 
time  close  to  the  cellarway,  waddled  off 
toward  the  barn  with  the  news.  "They  use 
that  table  to  keep  eggs  in,"  said  he.  "  Now 
is  n't  that  just  like  the  Man?  I  saw  him  put 
in  a  great  many  eggs,  and  he  took  them  all 
out  of  little  cases  which  he  brought  from 
town  this  morning.  I  don't  see  why  a  Man 
should  bring  eggs  out  from  town,  when  he 


First  Spring  Chickens  are  Hatched  33 

can  get  plenty  in  the  barn  by  hunting  for 
them.  Do  you?" 

"He  won't  find  any  of  mine  in  the  barn," 
said  a  Hen  Turkey.  "  I  lay  one  every  day, 
but  I  never  put  them  there."  When  she  had 
finished  speaking,  she  looked  around  to  see  if 
the  Gobbler  had  heard  her.  Luckily  he  had 
not.  If  he  had,  he  would  have  tried  to  find 
and  break  her  eggs. 

"  That  was  not  the  only  silly  thing  the  Man 
did,"  said  the  Gander,  who  intended  to  tell 
every  bit  of  news  he  had,  in  spite  of  inter- 
ruptions. 

"  Probably  not,"  said  the  White  Cock,  who 
was  feeling  badly  that  morning,  and  so 
thought  the  world  was  all  wrong. 

"No  indeed,"  said  the  Gander,  raising  his 
voice  somewhat,  so  that  the  poultry  around 
might  know  he  had  news  of  importance  to 
tell.  "No  indeed  I  The  Man  marked  every 
egg  with  a  sort  of  stick,  w  ich  he  took  from 
his  pocket.  It  was  sharp  at  both  ends,  and 
sometimes  he  marked  with  one  end  and 
sometimes  with  the  other.  He  put  a  black 

3 


34  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

mark  on  one  side  of  each  egg  and  a  red  mark 
on  the  other." 

"Red!"  exclaimed  the  Gobbler.     "Ugh!" 

"Yes,  red,"  said  the  Gander.  "But  the 
worst  and  most  stupid  part  of  it  all  was  when 
he  lighted  a  little  fire  in  something  that  he 
had  and  fastened  it  onto  the  table." 

"What  a  shame!"  cried  all  the  Geese  to- 
gether. "It  will  burn  up  those  eggs,  and 
every  fowl  knows  that  it  takes  time  to  get  a 
good  lot  of  them  together.  He  may  not  have 
thought  of  that.  He  cannot  know  very 
much,  for  he  probably  never  lived  on  a  farm 
before.  He  may  think  that  eggs  are  to  be 
found  in  barns  exactly  as  stones  are  found  in 
fields." 

All  this  made  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock 
Hen  very  sad.  She  could  not  help  believing 
what  she  had  heard,  and  still  she  hoped  they 
might  yet  find  out  that  the  Man  had  a  good 
reason  for  marking  and  then  burning  up  those 
eggs.  She  was  glad  to  think  that  none  of  hers 
were  in  the  lot.  She  was  not  saving  them 
for  Chickens  just  then,  but  she  preferred  to 


First  Spring  Chickens  are  Hatched   35 

think  of  them  as  being  eaten  by  the  Little 
Girls  or  the  fat  Baby  who  lived  in  the  house. 
She  decided  to  begin  saving  for  a  brood  of 
Chickens  at  once.  She  wanted  to  say  some- 
thing kind  about  the  Man,  or  explain  what 
he  was  doing  when  he  lighted  that  fire.  How- 
ever, she  could  not,  so  she  just  kept  her  bill 
tightly  shut  and  said  nothing  at  all.  This 
also  showed  that  she  was  a  fine  Hen,  for  the 
best  people  would  rather  say  nothing  at  all 
about  others  than  to  say  unkind  things. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  the  friendly 
Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  knew  what  was 
going  on  in  the  cellar.  She  was  greatly  dis- 
couraged about  the  Man.  She  had  tried  as 
hard  as  she  could  to  make  the  other  poultry 
believe  in  him,  and  had  thought  she  was  suc- 
ceeding, but  now  this  foolishness  about  the 
fat  table  and  the  eggs  seemed  likely  to  spoil 
it  all.  She  found  a  good  place  for  laying,  in 
a  corner  of  the  carriage  house  on  some  old 
bags,  and  there  she  put  all  her  eggs.  She  had 
decided  to  raise  a  brood  of  Chickens  and  take 
comfort  with  them,  leaving  the  Man  to  look 


36  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

out  for  himself  as  well  as  he  could.  She  still 
believed  in  him,  but  she  was  discouraged. 

Several  of  the  other  Hens  also  stole  nests 
and  began  filling  them,  so  on  the  day  when 
the  Man  hunted  very  thoroughly  for  eggs  and 
found  these  stolen  nests,  taking  all  but  one 
egg  from  each,  there  were  five  exceedingly 
sad  Hens.  You  would  think  they  might 
have  been  discouraged,  yet  they  were  not. 
A  Hen  may  become  discouraged  about  any- 
thing else  in  the  world,  but  if  she  wants  to 
sit,  she  sticks  to  it. 

That  very  day  was  an  exciting  one  in  the 
cellar.  When  the  Man  came  down  after 
breakfast  to  look  at  the  eggs  in  the  fat  table 
he  found  them  all  as  he  had  left  them,  with 
the  black-marked  side  uppermost.  He  took 
them  out  to  air  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
began  putting  them  back  with  the  red-mark- 
ed side  uppermost.  As  he  lifted  them,  he 
often  put  one  to  his  ear,  or  held  it  up  to  the 
light.  He  had  handled  the  eggs  over  in  this 
way  twice  a  day  for  about  three  weeks.  A 
few  of  them  had  small  breaks  in  the  shell,  and 


RETURNED  WITH  THE  BABY  IN  HIS  ARMS.  Page  37 


First  Spring  Chickens  are  Hatched   37 

through  one  of  these  breaks  there  stuck  out 
the  tiny  beak  of  an  unhatched  Chicken. 
When  he  found  an  egg  that  was  cracked,  or 
one  in  which  there  seemed  to  be  a  faint  tap- 
tap-tapping,  he  put  it  apart  from  the  others. 

When  this  was  done,  the  Man  ran  up  the 
inside  stairs.  In  a  few  minutes  he  returned 
with  the  Baby  in  his  arms  and  the  rest  of 
the  family  following.  The  Woman  had  her 
sleeves  rolled  up  and  flour  on  her  apron. 
The  Little  Girls  were  dressed  in  the  plain 
blue  denim  frocks  which  they  wore  all  the 
time,  except  when  they  went  to  town.  Then 
all  five  of  them  watched  the  cracked  eggs, 
and  saw  the  tiny  Chickens  who  were  inside 
chip  away  the  shell  and  get  ready  to  come  out 
into  the  great  world.  The  Woman  had  to 
leave  first,  for  there  came  a  hissing,  bubbling 
sound  from  the  kitchen  above,  which  made 
her  turn  and  run  up-stairs  as  fast  as  she  could. 

Then  what  a  time  the  Man  had !  The  Baby 
in  his  arms  kept  jumping  and  reaching  for  the 
struggling  Chickens,  and  the  two  Little  Girls 
could  hardly  keep  their  hands  away  from 


38  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

them.  "  Let  me  help  just  one  get  out  of  his 
shell,"  said  the  brown-haired  Little  Girl. 
"It  is  so  hard  for  such  small  Chickens." 

"No,"  said  the  Man,  and  he  said  it  very 
patiently,  although  they  had  already  been 
begging  like  this  for  some  time.  "No,  you 
must  not  touch  one  of  them.  If  you  were 
Hens,  you  would  know  better  than  to  want 
to  do  such  a  thing.  If  you  should  take  the 
shell  off  for  a  Chicken,  he  would  either  die  or 
be  a  very  weak  little  fellow.  Before  long 
each  will  have  a  fine  round  doorway  at  the 
large  end  of  his  shell,  through  which  he  can 
slip  out  easily." 

Some  of  the  Chickens  worked  faster  than 
others,  and  some  had  thin  shells  to  break, 
while  others  had  quite  thick  ones,  so  when  the 
first  Chicken  was  safely  out  many  had  not 
even  poked  their  bills  through.  As  soon  as 
the  first  was  safely  hatched,  the  Man  took 
away  the  broken  shell  and  closed  the  fat 
table  again.  Then  he  waved  his  hat  at  the 
Little  Girls  and  said  "Shoo!  Shoo!"  until 
they  laughed  and  ran  out-of-doors. 


First  Spring  Chickens  are  Hatched  39 

All  that  day  there  were  tiny  Chickens  busy 
in  the  incubator  (that  was  what  the  Man 
called  the  fat  table),  working  and  working 
and  working  to  get  out  of  their  shells.  Each 
was  curled  up  in  a  tight  bunch  inside,  and  one 
would  almost  think  that  he  could  not  work 
in  such  a  position.  However,  each  had  his 
head  curled  around  under  his  left  wing,  and 
pecked  with  it  there.  Then,  too,  as  he 
worked,  each  pushed  with  his  feet  against  the 
shell,  and  so  turned  very  slowly  around  and 
around  inside  it.  That  gave  him  a  chance, 
you  see,  to  peck  in  a  circle  and  so  break  open 
a  round  doorway.  As  they  came  out,  the 
Chickens  nestled  close  to  each  other  or  ran 
around  a  bit  and  got  acquainted,  talking  in 
soft  little  "Cheep-cheep-cheeps." 

They  were  very  happy  Chickens,  for  they 
were  warm  and  had  just  about  light  enough 
for  eyes  that  had  seen  no  light  at  all  until 
that  day.  It  is  true  that  they  had  no  food, 
but  one  does  not  need  food  when  first  hatched, 
so  it  is  not  strange  that  they  were  happy.  It 
is  also  true  that  they  had  no  mother,  yet  even 


4O  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

that  did  not  trouble  them,  for  they  knew 
nothing  at  all  about  mothers.  Probably 
they  thought  that  Chickens  were  always 
hatched  in  incubators  and  kept  warm  by 
lamps. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  Barred  Ply- 
mouth Rock  Hen  was  sitting  on  her  one  egg 
in  the  carriage  house,  thinking  sadly  of  her 
friend,  the  Man,  that  same  Man  came  slowly 
up  to  her.  The  Little  Girls  were  following 
him,  and  when  they  reached  the  doorway 
they  stood  still  with  their  toes  on  a  mark 
which  the  Man  had  made.  They  wanted 
very  much  to  see  what  he  was  about  to  do, 
yet  they  minded,  and  stood  where  they  had 
been  told,  although  they  did  bend  forward 
as  far  as  they  could  without  tumbling  over. 

The  Man  knelt  in  front  of  the  sitting  Hen, 
and  gently  uncovered  the  basket  he  held. 
The  Hen  could  hardly  believe  her  ears,  for 
she  heard  the  soft  "cheep-cheep-cheep"  of 
newly  hatched  Chickens.  She  tried  to  see 
into  the  basket.  "There!  There!"  said  the 
Man,  "  I  have  brought  you  some  children." 


First  Spring  Chickens  are  Hatched  41 

Then  he  lifted  one  at  a  time  and  slipped  it 
into  her  nest,  until  she  had  twelve  beautiful 
downy  white  Chickens  there. 

"Well!  Well!  Well!"  clucked  the  Hen. 
And  she  could  not  think  of  another  thing  to 
say  until  the  Man  had  gone  off  to  the  barn. 
He  had  taken  her  egg,  but  she  did  not  care 
about  that.  All  she  wanted  was  those  beau- 
tiful Chickens.  She  fluffed  up  her  feathers 
and  spread  out  her  wings  until  she  covered 
the  whole  twelve,  and  then  she  was  the  hap- 
piest fowl  on  the  place.  The  Man  came  back 
to  put  food  and  water  where  she  could  reach 
both  without  leaving  her  nest,  and  even  then 
she  could  think  of  nothing  to  say. 

After  he  went  away,  a  friend  came  strolling 
through  the  open  doorway.  This  Hen  was 
also  sitting,  but  had  come  off  the  nest  to 
stretch  her  legs  and  find  food.  It  was  a 
warm  April  day,  and  she  felt  so  certain  that 
the  eggs  would  not  chill,  that  she  paused  to 
chat. 

"  Such  dreadful  luck ! "  she  cackled.  "  You 
must  never  try  to  make  me  think  that  this 


42  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

Man  is  friendly.  He  has  left  me  only  one  of 
the  eggs  I  had  laid,  and  now  I  have  to  start 
all  over  for  a  brood  of  Chickens,  or  else  give 
up.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  I  feel  as  though 
I  could  not  lay  any  more  for  a  while." 

"Don't  be  discouraged,"  said  the  Barred 
Plymouth  Rock  Hen.  "  I  had  only  one  egg 
to  sit  on  last  night,  and  this  morning  I  have 
a  whole  brood  of  Chickens." 

"Where  did  they  come  from?"  asked  the 
visiting  Hen,  in  great  excitement. 

"That  is  what  I  don't  know,"  replied  the 
happy  mother.  "The  Man  brought  them  to 
me  just  now,  and  put  food  and  water  beside 
my  nest.  I  have  asked  and  asked  them  who 
their  mother  was,  and  they  say  I  am  the  first 
Hen  they  ever  saw.  Of  course  that  cannot 
be  so,  for  Chickens  are  not  blind  at  first,  like 
Kittens,  but  it  is  very  strange  that  they  can- 
not remember  about  the  Hen  who  hatched 
them.  They  say  that  there  were  many  more 
Chickens  where  they  came  from,  but  no  Hen 
whatever." 

The  White  Cock  stood   in  the  doorway. 


First  Spring  Chickens  are  Hatched  43 

"Do  you  know  where  my  Chickens  were 
hatched?"  asked  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock 
Hen. 

"Do  I  know?"  said  he,  pausing  to  loosen 
some  mud  from  one  of  his  feet  (he  did  not 
understand  the  feelings  of  a  mother,  or  he 
would  have  answered  at  once).  "  I  saw  the 
Man  bring  a  basketful  of  Chickens  over  this 
way  a  while  ago.  He  got  them  from  the 
cellar.  The  door  was  open  and  I  stood  on 
it.  Of  course  I  was  not  hanging  around  to 
find  out  what  he  was  doing.  I  simply  hap- 
pened to  be  there,  you  understand." 

"  Yes,  we  understand  all  about  it,"  said  the 
Hens,  who  knew  the  White  Cock  as  well  as 
anybody. 

"I  happened  to  be  there,"  he  repeated, 
"  and  I  saw  the  Man  take  the  Chickens  put  of 
the  fat  table.  There  was  no  Hen  in  sight. 
It  must  be  a  machine  for  hatching  Chickens. 
I  think  it  is  dreadful  if  the  Chickens  on  this 
farm  have  to  be  hatched  in  a  cellar,  without 
Hens.  Everything  is  going  wrong  since  the 
Farmer  left." 


44  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

The  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  and  her 
caller  looked  at  each  other  without  speaking. 
They  remembered  hearing  the  White  Cock 
talk  in  that  way  before  the  Farmer  left.  He 
was  one  of  those  fowls  who  are  always  dis- 
contented. 

"  I  am  going  back  to  my  nest,"  said  the 
visiting  Hen.  "Perhaps  the  Man  will  bring 
me  some  Chickens  too." 

The  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  sat  on  her 
nest  in  the  carriage  house,  eating  and  drink- 
ing when  she  wished,  and  cuddling  her  chil- 
dren under  her  feathers.  She  was  very 
happy,  and  thought  it  a  beautiful  world.  "  I 
would  rather  have  had  them  gray,"  she  said 
to  herself,  "but  if  they  couldn't  be  gray,  I 
prefer  white.  They  are  certainly  Plymouth 
Rock  Chickens  anyway,  and  the  color  does 
not  matter,  if  they  are  good." 

She  stood  up  carefully  and  took  a  long 
look  at  her  family.  "  I  could  n't  have 
hatched  out  a  better  brood  myself,"  she  said. 
"  It  is  a  queer  thing  for  tables  to  take  to  hatch- 
ing Chickens,  but  if  that  is  the  way  it  is  to  be 


First  Spring  Chickens  are  Hatched  45 

done  on  this  farm,  it  will  save  me  a  great  deal 
of  time  and  be  a  good  thing  for  my  legs.  It 
is  lucky  that  this  Man  came  here.  The  Far- 
mer who  left  would  never  have  thought  of 
making  a  table  sit  on  eggs  and  hatch  them." 


THE  MAN  BUILDS  A  POULTRY- 
HOUSE 

TT  would  be  wrong  to  say  that  all  the  poultry 
*  on  the  farm  really  liked  the  Man.  The 
White  Cock  and  the  Brown  Hen  had  never 
been  known  really  to  approve  of  anybody, 
and  the  Shanghai  Cock  was  not  given  to 
saying  pleasant  things  of  people.  However, 
the  Man  certainly  had  more  and  more  friends 
among  the  fowls  on  the  place,  and  when  the 
White  Cock  and  the  Brown  Hen  wanted  to 
say  what  they  thought  of  his  ways,  they  had 
to  go  off  together  to  some  far-away  corner 
where  they  could  not  be  overheard.  If  they 
did  not  do  this,  they  were  quite  certain  to  be 
asked  to  talk  about  something  else. 

The  five  Hens  who  had  had  Chickens  given 
to  them  were  his  firmest  friends.     It  is  true 
that  each  of  them  had  really  been  on  the  nest 
46 


The  Man  Builds  a  Poultry-House     47 

long  enough  to  hatch  out  Chickens  of  her  own, 
yet  they  saw  that  another  time  they  would 
be  saved  the  long  and  weary  sitting.  They 
remembered,  too,  the  Man's  thoughtfulness 
in  putting  food  and  water  where  they  could 
reach  it  easily  on  that  first  day,  when  they 
disliked  so  much  to  leave  their  families. 
They  had  spoken  of  this  to  the  Gander,  and 
had  tried  to  make  him  change  his  mind  about 
the  fat  table  in  the  cellar.  They  might  ex- 
actly as  well  have  talked  to  a  feed-cutter. 

"  I  hear  what  you  say,"  he  replied  politely 
(Ganders  are  often  the  most  polite  when  they 
are  about  to  do  or  say  mean  things).  "I 
hear  what  you  say,  but  you  cannot  expect 
me  to  change  my  mind  about  what  I  have 
seen  with  my  own  eyes.  It  was  certainly 
quite  wrong  for  him  to  get  ready  to  burn 
those  eggs,  and  the  marking  of  them  was 
almost  as  bad.  As  for  this  nonsense  about 
the  table  hatching  out  Chickens,  that  is 
'quite  absurd.  You  could  not  expect  a  Gan- 
der to  believe  that.  It  is  the  sort  of  thing 
which  Hens  believe." 


48  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

So  the  Man's  friends  had  to  give  up  talking 
to  the  Gander.  Even  the  Geese  were  not 
sure  that  it  was  all  right.  "  We  would  like  to 
think  so,"  they  often  remarked,  "but  the 
Gander  says  it  cannot  be." 

Now  the  fowls  had  something  new  to  puz- 
zle them,  for  the  Man  spent  one  sunshiny 
morning  in  walking  to  and  fro  in  the  fields 
which  had  always  been  used  for  a  pasture, 
stopping  every  now  and  then  to  drive  a  stake, 
Sometimes  he  walked  with  long  strides,  and 
then  when  his  Little  Girls  spoke  to  him  he 
would  shake  his  head  and  not  answer.  After- 
ward he  seemed  to  be  measuring  off  the 
ground  with  a  long  line  of  some  sort,  letting 
the  Little  Girls  take  turns  in  holding  one  end 
of  it  for  him. 

After  all  of  the  stakes  had  been  driven,  the 
Man  harnessed  Brownie  to  the  old  stone-boat 
and  began  to  draw  large  stones  from  different 
parts  of  the  farmyard  and  pasture.  He  even 
went  along  the  road  and  pried  out  some  which 
had  always  lain  there,  right  in  the  way  of 
every  team  that  had  to  turn  aside  from  the 


The  Man  Builds  a  Poultry-House     49 

narrow  track.  All  these  were  drawn  over  to 
the  stakes  and  tumbled  off  on  the  ground 
there. 

In  the  afternoon  the  Farmer  from  across 
the  road  brought  a  load  of  lumber,  which  he 
left  beside  the  stone  and  stakes,  and  then  the 
work  began.  The  Farmer,  who  was  used  to 
building  barns  and  sheds,  began  to  help  the 
Man  lay  stone  for  some  sort  of  long,  narrow 
building.  For  days  after  that  the  work 
went  on.  Sometimes  the  two  Men  worked 
together,  and  sometimes  the  Farmer  drove 
off  to  town  for  more  lumber,  after  showing 
the  Man  just  what  to  do  while  he  was  gone. 
The  Man  seemed  to  learn  very  easily,  and  did 
not  have  to  take  out  or  do  over  any  of  his 
work.  That  was  probably  because  he  lis- 
tened so  carefully  when  the  Fanner  was  tell- 
ing him.  People  always  make  mistakes,  you 
know,  unless  they  listen  carefully  to  what 
they  are  told. 

The  poultry  strolled  around  and  discussed 
the  new  building  every  day.  They  could 
not  imagine  what  it  was  to  be.  At  first, 


50  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

when  only  the  foundation  was  laid,  it  looked 
so  long  and  narrow  that  the  Gander  declared 
it  must  be  for  a  carriage  house.  "Don't 
you  see?"  he  said.  "There  will  be  plenty 
of  room  for  the  platform  wagon,  the  light 
lumber  wagon,  and  the  implements.  When 
they  are  all  in,  there  will  be  room  for  the  Man 
to  walk  along  on  either  side  of  them  and  clean 
them  off.  It  is  about  the  most  sensible  thing 
that  I  have  known  the  Man  to  do."  The 
Farmer  always  left  his  implements  out  in  all 
kinds  of  weather,  and  sometimes  one  of  his 
wagons  stood  out  in  a  storm  too. 

Nobody  except  the  Geese  agreed  with  the 
Gander,  and  they  would  have  agreed  with 
him  just  as  quickly  if  he  had  said  that  the 
building  was  for  Barn  Swallows.  You  see 
the  Gander  was  always  ready  to  tell  what  he 
thought,  and  as  the  Geese  never  even  thought 
of  thinking  for  themselves,  it  was  very  easy 
for  them  simply  to  agree  with  him. 

Brown  Bess  looked  at  the  long  lines  of 
stone  all  neatly  set  in  cement,  and  said  that 
she  would  not  mind  having  one  end  of  the 


The  Man  Builds  a  Poultry-House     51 

building  for  herself  and  the  Calf.  "  It  would 
be  much  snugger  than  my  place  in  the  barn," 
said  she,  "although  that  is  all  right  in  warm 
weather." 

Brownie  may  have  known  what  it  was  for, 
because  he  had  a  great  deal  of  Horse  sense,  but 
if  he  knew  he  did  not  tell.  Being  the  only 
Horse  on  the  place,  and  so  much  larger  than 
any  of  the  other  people,  he  had  not  made 
friends  very  quickly,  although  everybody 
liked  him  as  well  as  they  had  Bobs. 

It  was  not  until  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock 
Hen  saw  that  the  long  space  was  to  be  divided 
into  many  small  rooms  that  she  guessed  it 
might  be  for  the  poultry  themselves.  Even 
then  she  dared  not  tell  anybody  what  she 
thought.  "  In  the  first  place,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "they  may  prefer  to  run  all  over  the 
farm,  as  they  always  have  done,  laying  their 
eggs  wherever  they  can.  If  any  of  them  feel 
that  way,  they  won't  like  it.  If  they  really 
want  a  good  house  to  live  in,  I  might  better 
not  tell  them  what  I  think,  for  if  I  should 
be  mistaken  they  would  be  disappointed." 


52  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

In  all  of  which  she  was  exactly  right.  It 
is  much  better  for  people  not  to  tell  their 
guesses  to  others.  There  is  time  enough 
for  the  telling  of  news  when  one  is  quite 
sure  of  it. 

As  the  work  went  on,  the  Barred  Ply- 
mouth Rock  Hen  noticed  that  at  each  end  of 
the  long  space  there  was  a  sort  of  scratching- 
shed  with  an  open  front.  The  distance  be- 
tween these  end  sheds  was  filled  by  two 
closed  pens,  two  more  scratching-sheds,  two 
more  pens,  and  so  on.  There  were  doors 
from  one  room  to  another  all  the  way  along, 
big  doors  such  as  Men  need,  and  there  were 
little  doors  from  each  pen  to  its  scratching- 
shed  just  large  enough  for  fowls. 

The  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  grew 
more  and  more  sure  that  her  guess  was  right, 
and  still  she  said  nothing,  although  she  was 
happy  to  see  how  warm  and  snug  the  Man  was 
making  the  pens.  "Why,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "  if  he  will  let  me  live  in  that  sort  of  house 
I  will  lay  eggs  for  him  in  the  winter."  She 
had  hardly  got  the  words  out  of  her  bill  when 


The  Man  Builds  a  Poultry-House     53 

the  other  poultry  came  up.  It  was  growing 
late,  and  they  came  for  a  last  look  at  the 
house  before  going  to  roost. 

"  I  declare,"  said  the  Gobbler,  "  I  believe 
that  house  is  for  the  Hens!" 

"Surely  not,"  said  the  Gander.  "You 
don't  mean  for  the  Hens,  do  you?" 

"That  is  what  I  said,"  replied  the  Gobbler, 
standing  his  feathers  on  end  and  dragging  his 
wings  on  the  ground.  ' '  Why  not  ?  The  Man 
knows  that  Turkeys  do  not  care  much  for 
houses,  else  we  might  have  a  place  in  it.  I 
really  would  n't  mind  staying  in  a  quiet 
home  sometimes,  but  in  pleasant  weather 
my  wives  will  go,  and  of  course  I  cannot  let 
them  walk  around  the  country  alone,  so  that 
is  how  I  have  to  spend  my  days." 

The  Turkey  Hens  looked  at  each  other 
knowingly.  They  wished  that  he  would 
leave  them  and  their  children  quite  alone. 
He  was  not  fond  of  children,  and  the  year  be- 
fore the  Turkey  mothers  had  had  dreadful 
times  in  trying  to  keep  theirs  out  of  his  sight. 

"  Let  us  go  inside  and  see  what  it  is  like," 


54  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

said  the  little  Speckled  Hen,  leading  the  way. 
Not  until  they  reached  the  very  last  pen  did 
they  see  enough  to  make  them  sure  that  the 
Gobbler  was  right.  There  they  found  the 
perches  in  place,  the  nest-boxes  ready,  and  a 
fine  feeding-trough  just  inside  the  large  front 
window,  where  they  could  stand  in  the  sun- 
shine in  winter  and  eat  comfortable  meals. 
The  Cocks  flew  up  at  once  to  try  the  perches. 
"Fine!"  said  the  Shanghai  Cock.  "Fine! 
These  perches  exactly  fit  my  feet.  I  am  glad 
that  he  made  them  large  enough.  Low,  too, 
so  that  we  cannot  hurt  ourselves  in  flying 
down." 

"  I  like  this,"  said  the  White  Cock.  "  The 
perches  are  all  the  same  height  from  the  floor. 
I  like  a  low  perch,  but  not  if  other  fowls 
are  above  me.  Now  you  larger  fellows  can't 
roost  any  higher  than  I  do.  Cock-a-doodle- 
doo!"  It  is  not  strange  that  he  crowed  over 
it,  because  every  night  the  fowls  had  been 
fighting  for  the  highest  roosting  places,  and 
the  strongest  were  sure  to  win. 

"Nests!"     cackled     the     Hens.     "Nests! 


The  Man  Builds  a  Poultry-House     55 

How  pleasant  this  will  be !  They  are  all  in  a 
row,  so  we  can  visit  with  each  other  while  we 
are  laying." 

"  That  is  a  good  plan,"  said  the  Brown  Hen, 
who  really  seemed  pleased  at  last.  "I  am 
always  thinking  of  things  to  say  when  I  am 
laying,  and  there  is  hardly  ever  any  other 
fowl  near  enough  to  hear.  It  has  been  very 
annoying." 

"I  don't  care  so  much  about  that,"  said 
a  very  sensible  White  Hen.  "  I  can  stand  it 
not  to  talk  for  a  while.  What  I  want  is  a 
warm  nest  where  the  rain  cannot  strike  me, 
and  where  I  shall  have  quite  room  enough 
for  my  tail." 

"  That  is  what  we  want,  too,"  said  three  or 
four  others. 

"  There  have  always  been  so  many  unpleas- 
ant things,"  said  the  Brown  Hen.  "I  have 
tried  many  places.  I  find  a  warm  one  where 
the  wind  cannot  blow  upon  me,  and  usually 
there  is  not  enough  room  for  my  tail.  No 
Hen  can  lay  comfortably  in  a  nest  when  her 
tail  is  pushed  to  one  side.  I  have  tried  laying 


56  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

under  the  currant  bushes  in  warm  weather, 
and  there  one  has  all  out-of-doors  for  her  tail, 
but  on  rainy  days  one  has  to  change.  I  do 
not  like  changes." 

"  You  do  not  ? "  asked  the  Shanghai  Cock. 
"I  thought  all  fowls  liked  changes.  If  you 
live  here  in  winter,  you  will  be  walking  from 
the  pen  to  the  scratching-shed  half  of  the 
time." 

"You  know  very  well  what  I  mean,"  said 
the  Brown  Hen.  "  I  like  the  changes  that  I 
like,  of  course.  Any  fowl  does.  What  I  do 
not  like  is  the  changes  that  I  don't  like." 
She  said  this  in  a  dignified  and  truly  Hen-like 
manner,  and  then  she  walked  off. 

"All  I  hope,"  said  the  White  Cock,  sadly, 
"is  that  we  shall  not  be  shut  up  in  these 
places  during  the  summer.  One  cannot  tell 
what  may  happen.  One  must  expect  the 
worst.  When  I  see  the  wire  front  of  the 
scratching-shed,  I  fear  that  we  shall  be  kept 
in." 

"Nonsense!"  cried  the  Shanghai  Cock. 
"  Don't  be  a  Goose.  The  Man  has  begun  to 


The  Man  Builds  a  Poultry-House     57 

put  a  wire  fence  around  a  great  yard  outside, 
and  there  will  be  plenty  of  room  to  run  there 
if  we  are  to  live  here.  I  do  not  believe  that 
we  shall  be  shut  in,  in  pleasant  weather." 

"Come,"  clucked  the  Barred  Plymouth 
Rock  Hen  to  her  brood.  "  Come  with  me  to 
the  carriage  house.  It  is  time  all  good  little 
Chickens  were  asleep." 

She  was  very  happy  over  the  pleasant 
things  which  she  had  heard  said  about  the 
Man.  Only  a  truly  polite  Hen  could  have 
kept  from  saying  "I  told  you  so,"  all  this 
time,  but  she  had  shut  her  bill  tightly  and 
kept  back  the  words  she  wanted  to  say. 

You  remember  that  the  Shanghai  Cock 
had  always  liked  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock 
Hen,  and  now  he  thought  she  should  be  told 
how  they  had  come  to  feel  about  her  friend, 
the  Man.  He  was  not  used  to  saying  pleas- 
ant things,  but  having  praised  the  perches 
made  it  a  little  easier  for  him.  You  know 
saying  one  kind  thing  always  makes  it  easier 
to  say  another.  So  he  ran  after  her. 

' '  Er-er !      I  don't  want  the  Farmer  to  come 


58  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

back,"  he  said.  Then  he  thought  that  did 
not  sound  quite  right  and  he  tried  again. 
"  I  'm  not  sorry  he  went  away.  I  mean  I  'm 
glad  that  the  Man  came.  All  of  us  are  now, 
except  the  Gander  and  the  White  Cock,  and 
you  don't  really  care  for  them,  do  you?" 

He  looked  at  her  lovingly  with  his  round 
eyes,  and  the  wind  waved  his  drooping 
tail  feathers.  The  Barred  Plymouth  Rock 
Hen  thought  that  she  had  never  seen 
him  look  so  handsome.  "  I  don't  care  at 
all  about  them,"  she  replied  quite  honestly, 
"  and  I  am  glad  that  you  and  the  others  like 
the  Man." 

She  said  "  you  "  much  more  loudly  than  she 
said  "the  others,"  and  the  Shanghai  Cock 
must  have  known  what  she  meant,  for  he 
stretched  his  neck,  opened  his  bill,  and  gave 
such  a  crow  as  he  was  never  known,  before 
or  since,  to  give  at  that  hour  of  the  day. 

The  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  went 
happily  to  her  nest,  and  stayed  awake  long 
after  her  last  Chicken  was  fast  asleep.  Even 
if  one  is  grown-up  and  the  mother  of  a  family, 


The  Man  Builds  a  Poultry-House     59 

even  if  one  comes  of  a  finer  breed  than  one's 
neighbors,  he  cannot  be  truly  happy  without 
their  hearty  liking.  This  Hen  felt  that  she 
had  it  at  last,  and  that  just  by  doing  the 
thing  which  she  thought  right,  but  which  the 
other  poultry  had  not  liked  at  all  at  first.  It 
is  often  so. 


THE  PEKIN  DUCK  STEALS  A  NEST 

HPHE  Ducks  were  not  much  interested  in 
*•  the  new  poultry-house.  To  be  sure  the 
Hens  talked  of  hardly  anything  else  now,  and 
several  had  said  that  they  would  be  glad  to 
lay  in  the  new  nest-boxes  as  soon  as  they 
should  be  lined  with  hay  for  them.  So  the 
Ducks  heard  enough  about  the  house,  but 
did  not  really  care  for  it  at  all. 

"It  is  too  far  from  the  river,"  said  they. 
"  We  are  quite  contented  with  the  old  Pig-pen. 
Since  the  Hog  and  her  children  were  taken 
away  and  the  Man  has  cleaned  it  out,  we  find 
it  an  excellent  place.  There  is  room  for  all 
of  us  in  the  little  shed  where  the  Hog  used  to 
live,  and  the  Man  has  thrown  in  straw  and 
fixed  good  places  for  egg-laying.  Besides, 
there  is  no  door,  and  we  can  go  in  and  out  as 

often  as  we  choose." 

60 


The  Pekin  Duck  Steals  a  Nest      61 

That  was  exactly  like  the  Ducks.  They' 
seemed  to  think  that  to  go  where  they  wished 
and  when  they  wished  was  the  best  part  of 
life.  The  best  part  of  sleeping  in  the  old  Pig- 
pen, they  thought,  was  being  able  to  leave  it 
whenever  they  chose.  They  knew  perfectly 
well,  if  they  stopped  to  think  about  it,  that  a 
Weasel  or  Rat  could  get  in  quite  as  easily  as 
they,  and  it  was  only  their  luck  which  had 
kept  them  safe  so  long. 

The  Ducks  were  very  pleasant  people  to 
know.  They  never  worried  about  anything 
for  more  than  a  few  minutes,  and  had  charm- 
ingly happy  and  contented  ways.  There 
were  only  a  few  of  them  on  the  farm,  and  no 
two  exactly  alike  in  color  and  size.  The 
Farmer  had  never  paid  much  attention  to 
them,  and  the  Boy,  who  bought  and  kept 
them  for  pets,  had  tired  of  them  so  soon  that 
they  had  been  allowed  to  go  wherever  they 
pleased,  until  they  expected  always  to  have 
their  own  way. 

They  took  their  share  of  the  food  thrown 
out  for  the  poultry,  and  then  went  off  to  the 


62  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

river  for  the  day.  During  the  hot  weather 
they  stayed  there  until  after  all  respectable 
Hens  had  gone  to  roost.  Even  the  Geese 
left  the  water  long  before  they  did.  When 
they  went  to  sleep,  they  settled  down  on  the 
floor  and  dozed  off.  "  It  is  much  easier  than 
flying  up  to  roosts  and  then  down  again," 
they  said.  "  Find  a  place  you  like,  and  then 
stay  there.  We  see  no  reason  why  people 
should  make  such  a  fuss  about  going  to 
sleep." 

When  the  Shanghai  Cock  heard  these 
things,  he  shook  his  head  until  his  wattles 
swung.  ' '  That  is  all  very  well  for  the  Ducks, ' ' 
said  he,  "but  from  the  way  this  Man  acts,  I 
think  there  may  be  a  change  coming  for  them 
by  and  by.  I  notice  that  things  are  more 
different  every  day." 

The  Ducks  soon  began  to  see  that  it  was 
different  with  them.  Ducks,  you  know,  are 
always  very  careless  about  where  they  lay 
their  eggs.  Some  of  these  were  so  old  that 
they  seldom  laid  eggs,  only  the  Pekin  Duck 
and  her  big  friend,  the  Aylesbury  Duck,  laid 


The  Pekin  Duck  Steals  a  Nest      63 

them  quite  often  after  the  middle  of  winter. 
At  first  the  Man  looked  in  the  old  Pig-pen 
for  them,  but  after  he  had  looked  many  days 
and  found  only  one,  he  drew  a  book  out  of  his 
pocket  and  read  a  bit.  Then  he  called  the 
Little  Girls  to  him  and  talked  to  them.  "  I 
want  you  to  watch  each  of  those  white 
Ducks,"  said  he,  "  and  for  every  one  of  their 
eggs  which  you  find  I  will  give  you  a 
penny." 

Each  morning  for  some  days  after  that, 
the  two  Ducks  were  followed  by  two  hopeful 
Little  Girls .  "I  don '  t  mind  it  so  much  now, ' ' 
the  Pekin  Duck  said  to  her  friends  on  the 
third  day,  "but  at  first  I  did  n't  know  what 
to  do.  I  would  no  sooner  sit  down  to  lay 
under  a  bush  or  in  some  cosy  corner  than  a 
Little  Girl  would  sit  on  the  ground  in  front 
and  watch  me.  Then  I  would  move  to 
another  place,  and  she  would  move  too.  I 
must  say,  however,  that  they  are  very  good 
children.  The  Boy  who  lived  here  often 
threw  stones  at  us.  These  children  never  do. 
I  sometimes  think  there  may  be  as  much 


64  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

difference  in  Boys  and  Girls  as  there  is  in 
Ducklings." 

When  the  Little  Girls  tired  of  watching  for 
eggs  to  be  laid,  the  Pekin  Duck  decided  to  do 
something  she  had  never  tried  before.  She 
was  the  youngest  of  the  flock,  and  she  wanted 
Ducklings.  The  older  Ducks  tried  to  dis- 
courage her.  "  Have  a  good  time  while  you 
can,"  said  the  Aylesbury  Duck,  who  was 
about  her  age,  and  thought  Ducklings  a 
bother.  "I  don't  want  to  be  troubled  with 
a  lot  of  children." 

The  old  Ducks  advised  her  not  to  try  it. 
"You  think  it  will  be  very  fine,"  said  they, 
"but  you  will  find  that  you  cannot  go  wher- 
ever you  want  to,  and  do  whatever  you  please 
with  Ducklings  tagging  along.  The  sitting 
alone  is  enough  to  tire  a  Duck  out." 

"Oh,  I  think  I  could  stand  it,"  remarked 
the  Pekin  Duck,  quietly.  "Didn't  some 
Duck  stand  it  long  enough  to  hatch  me?" 

"Hatch  you?  No  indeed,"  laughed  an 
old  Rouen  Duck,  who  could  remember  quite 
distinctly  things  which  had  happened  three 


The  Pekin  Duck  Steals  a  Nest      65 

years  before  on  the  farm  from  which  they 
had  all  come  to  this.  "Hatch  you?  A 
Shanghai  Hen  hatched  you  and  half  a  dozen 
other  Ducklings  in  a  box  with  hay  in  it  and 
slats  across  the  front.  I  remember  quite  well 
how  cross  she  became  when  she  thought  it 
time  for  her  Chickens  to  chip  the  shell,  and 
they  did  not  chip.  She  never  dreamed  that 
she  was  sitting  on  Ducks'  eggs,  although 
every  Duck  on  the  place  knew  it  and  thought 
it  a  good  joke.  She  was  a  stupid  thing,  or 
she  would  have  known  without  being  told. 
Any  bright  Hen  knows  that  Ducks'  eggs  are 
larger,  darker,  and  greasier  looking  than 
her  own." 

The  Pekin  Duck  remembered  very  little  of 
her  life  before  coming  to  the  farm,  so  she  was 
glad  to  hear  of  it  from  the  old  Rouen  Duck. 
"What  did  my  mother  do  when  her  eggs 
didn't  hatch?"  said  she. 

"  Do ? "  repeated  the  Rouen  Duck.  "  Do? 
Why  she  did  the  only  thing  that  any  sitting 
fowl  can  do.  She  kept  on  sitting." 

"  How  long?"   asked  the  Pekin  Duck. 

5 


66  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

"You  don't  suppose  I  can  remember  that, 
do  you?"  replied  the  Rouen  Duck,  twitching 
her  little  pointed  tail  from  side  to  side. 
"  Besides,  I  never  count  things.  All  I  know 
is  that  she  said  one  of  the  Cocks,  who  was  a 
friend  of  hers,  declared  that  the  moon  was 
quite  new  when  she  began  sitting,  and  that 
she  sat  there  until  it  was  quite  new  again. 
He  was  roosting  in  a  tree  just  then,  and  knew 
more  about  the  moon  because  he  always 
awakened  to  crow  during  the  night.  She 
thought  it  was  dreadful  to  have  to  sit  so 
long." 

The  Pekin  Duck  saw  that  the  Rouen  Duck 
was  still  trying  to  discourage  her.  "I  sup- 
pose it  was  harder  for  her  because  her  legs 
were  longer,"  she  said.  "  If  they  were  longer 
they  would  ache  more,  would  n't  they?" 

The  Rouen  Duck  smiled  all  around  her  bill 
"  Your  mother  had  her  worst  time  later  on, 
though,"  she  said.  "When  you  and  your 
brothers  and  sisters  were  hatched,  she  could 
not  understand  why  you  were  so  different 
from  all  the  other  children  she  had  ever  raised. 


The  Pekin  Duck  Steals  a  Nest      67 

She  said  that  not  one  of  you  looked  like  her 
family,  and  the  Shanghai  Cock  was  very  dis- 
agreeable to  her  about  it .  He  said  she  should 
be  more  careful  whose  eggs  she  hatched. 
And  when  you  children  went  into  the  water, 
your  mother  would  walk  up  and  down  the 
bank  of  the  pond,  clucking  as  hard  as  she 
could,  and  begging  you  to  come  ashore  at 
once.  At  night,  too,  there  was  trouble,  for 
you  would  never  go  to  bed  as  early  as  she 
thought  proper.  After  a  while  she  learned 
to  march  off  at  a  time  that  suited  her,  and  let 
you  come  when  you  were  ready." 

"Thank  you  ever  so  much  for  telling  me," 
said  the  Pekin  Duck,  sweetly.  "It  must 
be  horrid  to  have  the  wrong  kind  of  children. 
I  promise  you  that  I  will  not  sit  on  Hens' 
eggs."  Then  she  waddled  away. 

"  I  want  some  Ducklings,"  said  she,  putting 
her  pretty  webbed  feet  down  somewhat  harder 
than  usual.  "I  want  Ducklings,  and  I  am 
going  to  steal  a  nest  at  once."  She  was  a 
Duck  of  determination,  and  made  a  start  by 
finding  a  cosy  spot  under  some  burdock 


68  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

plants  and  laying  an  egg  before  she  went  in 
swimming.  She  was  in  such  haste  to  make  a 
beginning  that  she  had  actually  to  come 
back  later  to  finish  her  nest,  which  she  did  by 
adding  more  dried  leaves  and  grass  and 
lining  it  with  down  which  she  plucked  from 
her  breast. 

After  that,  of  course,  all  her  friends  knew 
that  it  was  useless  to  talk  to  her  about  it,  for 
when  a  Duck  goes  around  at  that  season  of 
the  year  with  her  breast  all  ragged  from  her 
plucking  it,  people  may  be  very  sure  that  she 
is  planning  to  hatch  a  brood.  It  is  not  at  all 
becoming,  but  it  is  a  great  help,  for  when  the 
sitting  Duck  is  tired  or  hungry,  she  can  pull 
the  down  over  the  eggs  and  leave  her  nest, 
knowing  that  the  down  will  keep  them  warm 
for  a  long  time. 

Of  course  the  other  Ducks  talked  about  her 
a  good  deal  when  she  was  not  around,  and 
said  she  would  be  sorry  she  had  undertaken 
all  that  work  and  care,  and  that  it  was  ex- 
actly as  well  to  drop  one's  eggs  anywhere  and 
let  the  Man  pick  them  up  to  put  under  some 


The  Pekin  Duck  Steals  a  Nest      69 

sitting  Hen.  "Yes,"  said  the  Aylesbury 
Duck,  "or  else  give  them  to  the  fat  table 
for  hatching."  Then  they  all  laughed.  It 
seemed  such  a  joke  to  them  that  a  table 
should  take  to  hatching  eggs. 

Nearly  every  day  the  Pekin  Duck  laid  an 
egg,  and  she  soon  had  enough  to  begin  sitting. 
After  that,  she  did  not  go  up  to  the  Pig-pen 
at  night  with  her  friends.  It  was  quite 
lonely  in  the  clump  of  burdocks,  and  if  the 
Pekin  Duck  had  been  at  all  timid  she  might 
have  had  some  bad  nights,  for  Weasels,  Rats, 
and  Skunks  were  out  after  dark,  looking  for 
something  to  eat.  Yet  they  must  always 
have  found  food  before  they  reached  the 
burdocks,  for  the  Duck  was  not  disturbed. 
During  the  day  her  friends  came  along  for  a 
chat,  and  often  the  Drake  waddled  up  for  a 
visit.  He  seemed  to  think  her  a  very  sensible 
sort  of  Duck.  He  had  not  the  Gobbler's  dis- 
like of  children,  although  he  never  shared  the 
labor  of  hatching  them,  like  his  friend  the 
Gander.  He  thought  one  could  be  a  good 
father  without  going  quite  as  far  as  that. 


7O  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

The  days  were  long  and  the  nights  seemed 
longer  to  the  tired  Pekin  Duck,  but  her  cour- 
age never  failed.  When  her  legs  cramped  so 
that  she  could  hardly  step  off  the  nest,  she 
smiled  and  said  to  herself,  "  Suppose  I  were  a 
Thousand-Legged  Worm!"  She  fancied  it 
made  her  feel  better  to  think  of  such  things, 
and  she  never  remembered  that  Thousand- 
Legged- Worms  do  not  sit  on  nests  and  hatch 
out  their  children  in  that  way.  It  is  prob- 
ably better  that  she  did  not.  If  it  does  one 
good  to  think  of  Thousand- Legged-Worms,  it 
is  wise  to  think  about  them,  even  if  one  does 
make  a  slight  mistake  of  this  sort. 

When  the  rain  came,  the  burdock  leaves 
kept  off  most  of  it,  and  the  few  drops  which 
fell  between  the  leaves  rolled  off  the  Duck's 
back  without  wetting  her  at  all.  That  was 
because  her  feathers  were  so  oily  that  the 
rain  could  not  stay  on  them.  Ducks,  you 
know,  always  have  on  their  water-proofs,  and 
can  slip  in  and  out  of  the  water  at  any  time 
without  getting  really  wet. 

The  pleasure  which  she  missed  most  was 


The  Pekin  Duck  Steals  a  Nest      71 

seeing  the  changes  which  the  Man  was  mak- 
ing in  the  upper  end  of  the  pasture.  The 
Drake  told  her  how  great  yards  had  been 
fenced  in  with  wire  netting,  and  how  the 
fronts  of  the  scratching-shed  had  been  cov- 
ered with  somewhat  finer  netting  of  the  same 
kind.  "  Not  even  a  Weasel  could  get  through 
it,"  he  said.  And  then  the  Pekin  Duck 
wished  that  the  Man  would  fix  a  place  for  her 
Ducklings  where  Weasels  could  not  get  them. 
She  had  never  feared  such  creatures  for  her- 
self, but  when  she  thought  of  her  children  she 
was  afraid.  That  is  always  the  way,  since 
it  is  much  easier  for  a  mother  to  be  brave 
for  herself  than  for  her  children. 

On  a  beautiful  morning  in  the  last  of  May, 
the  Pekin  Duck  was  repaid  for  all  her  patience 
and  courage  by  having  seven  beautiful  Duck- 
lings chip  the  shell.  They  were  even  more 
beautiful  than  she  had  thought  they  would  be, 
and  she  could  not  understand  why  her  friends 
seemed  no  more  impressed.  To  be  sure  they 
said  that  they  were  fine  Ducklings  and  that 
they  looked  like  their  mother,  and  admired 


72  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

their  dainty  little  webbed  feet  and  their 
bills.  They  spoke  of  the  beautiful  thick 
down  which  covered  them,  and  said  that  they 
were  remarkably  bright  and  strong  for  their 
age.  And  yet  the  Pekin  Duck  could  see  that 
they  had  not  properly  realized  what  wonder- 
ful creatures  the  Ducklings  were. 

It  was  when  all  the  Ducks  were  gathered 
around  to  look  at  the  Ducklings  that  one  of 
the  Little  Girls  came  along  with  her  doll. 
When  she  also  saw  the  Ducklings,  she  was  so 
excited  that  she  hugged  her  doll  tightly  to 
her  heart  and  ran  off  to  find  her  father. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  Pekin  Duck  saw 
her  precious  babies  lifted  into  a  well-lined 
basket  and  carried  off  toward  the  house. 
She  followed,  quacking  anxiously,  and  keep- 
ing as  close  to  the  Man  as  possible.  Twice 
he  lowered  the  basket  to  let  her  see  that  her 
children  were  quite  safe. 

The  Man  carried  the  basket  to  a  place  be- 
side the  new  poultry-house,  now  all  done,  and 
quickly  fixed  the  old  down-lined  nest,  which 
the  Little  Girl  had  been  carrying  in  another 


SHE  FOLLOWED  QUACKING  ANXIOUSLY.  Page 


The  Pekin  Duck  Steals  a  Nest      73 

basket,  into  a  fine  coop.  Next  he  put  the 
nestlings  into  it  and  let  the  Pekin  Duck  cover 
them  with  her  wings.  He  stretched  fine  wire 
netting  across  the  front  of  the  coop,  and  then 
the  Pekin  Duck  was  perfectly  happy.  In- 
deed it  was  not  until  the  middle  of  the  fol- 
lowing night  that  she  remembered  she  had 
not  looked  at  the  poultry-house  at  all. 

It  was  rather  disappointing  not  to  be  able 
to  take  her  children  in  swimming  for  two 
days,  but  when  she  saw  how  carefully  the 
Man  fed  them  on  bread  and  milk  and  other 
soft  food,  and  how  particular  he  was  about 
having  plenty  of  clean  water  for  them  to 
drink,  she  quite  forgave  him  for  keeping  them 
there.  The  other  Ducks  came  to  tell  her  how 
to  care  for  the  Ducklings,  to  shake  their  sleek 
heads,  and  to  tell  her  how  unfortunate  it  was 
that  she  could  not  take  the  Ducklings  in 
swimming  at  once.  "  You  will  need  to  know 
many  things,"  said  the  old  Rouen  Duck, 
"and  I  will  tell  you  if  you  will  come  to  me 
every  time  that  you  are  perplexed." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  Pekin  Duck.     But 


74  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

she  never  went.  She  thought  it  just  as  well 
that  a  Duck  who  had  never  hatched  out 
children  should  not  be  giving  advice  to  people 
who  had. 

When  the  Ducklings  were  three  days  old, 
they  were  let  out  and  started  at  once  for  the 
river.  When  their  mother  had  to  stop  to 
speak  to  her  friends  on  the  way,  they  did  not 
wait  for  her,  but  marched  on  ahead.  All  the 
fowls  spoke  admiringly  of  them,  and  the 
Pekin  Duck  was  truly  happy  as  she  looked 
at  her  seven  proper  little  Ducklings. 

They  were  such  bright  children,  too,  wad- 
dling right  down  to  the  edge  of  the  brook  and 
slipping  in  without  a  single  question  as  to  how 
it  should  be  done.  Their  mother  followed 
after  and  showed  them  how  she  fed  from  the 
bottom,  reaching  her  head  far  down  until  she 
could  fill  her  orange-colored  bill  with  the  soft 
mud  from  the  bottom.  There  were  many 
tiny  creatures  in  the  mud  which  were  good  to 
eat,  and  these  she  kept  and  swallowed,  letting 
the  mud  pass  out  between  the  rough  edges  of 
her  bill.  If  the  water  had  been  deeper,  she 


The  Pekin  Duck  Steals  a  Nest      75 

could  have  showed  them  how  she  dived,  stay- 
ing long  under  water  and  coming  up  in  a 
most  unexpected  place. 

When  they  came  out  of  the  water  and  stood 
on  the  bank,  their  mother  stretched  herself 
up  as  tall  as  she  could  and  preened  her 
feathers.  The  seven  little  Ducklings  stood  as 
tall  as  they  could  and  squeezed  the  water  out 
of  their  down  with  their  tiny  bills,  which 
seemed  so  much  longer  for  them  than  their 
mother's  did  for  her. 

The  Pekin  Duck  was  much  amused  to  see 
how  the  other  Ducks  flocked  around  her 
children.  Indeed,  she  laughed  outright  once, 
when  she  heard  the  old  Rouen  Duck  say  to 
the  White  Cock,  "  Don't  you  think  that  our 
Ducklings  are  growing  finely?" 

Of  course  the  Pekin  Duck  was  ashamed  of 
having  laughed  at  any  one  so  much  older  than 
she,  so  she  stuck  her  head  under  her  wing  and 
pretended  to  be  arranging  the  feathers  there. 
When  she  drew  it  out  again  she  was  quite 
sober,  but  she  was  thinking  "  Our  Ducklings! 
Our  Ducklings!  They  may  all  call  them 


76 


Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 


that  if  it  makes  them  happy  to  do  so,  but 
really  they  are  my  Ducklings,  for  I  earned 
them,  and  they  love  me  as  they  love  nobody 
else." 


THE  NEW  NESTS  AND  THE  NEST 
EGGS 

AS  might  have  been  expected,  the  new 
poultry-house  was  no  sooner  finished 
than  the  fowls  began  to  discuss  who  should 
live  in  the  different  parts.  They  could  see  no 
reason  why  they  should  not  all  run  together, 
as  they  always  had  done.  "Perhaps,"  the 
Black  Hen  had  said,  "  the  Man  may  put  us  all 
together  and  let  the  table's  Chickens  have 
pens  to  themselves." 

"What?"  said  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock 
Hen,  "  put  me  in  one  pen  and  my  Chickens  in 
another?  That  would  never  do." 

"  You  forget,"  said  the  Shanghai  Cock  very 
gently,  "that  by  winter-time  they  will  not 
need  your  care  any  more,  and  you  will  not 
wish  to  be  with  them  so  much."  And  that 
was  true,  for  no  matter  how  fond  a  Hen  may 
77 


78  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

be  of  her  tiny  Chickens,  she  is  certain  to  care 
less  for  them  when  they  are  grown. 

All  the  fowls  were  quite  sure  that  they 
should  have  the  best  pen  and  yard,  because 
they  had  been  the  longest  on  the  place.  After 
they  had  spoken  of  that,  they  had  a  great 
time  in  deciding  which  was  the  best  pen. 
Part  of  the  fowls  wanted  to  be  in  the  end 
toward  the  road,  so  that  they  could  see 
all  that  went  on  there  and  look  across  to 
the  other  farm  to  watch  their  neighbors. 
The  Cocks  all  preferred  this.  They  liked 
excitement. 

Some  of  the  Hens  wished  to  live  in  the  pen 
next  to  the  barn.  ' '  We  are  fond  of  the  barn, ' ' 
they  said.  "We  have  been  there  so  much, 
and  have  laid  so  many  eggs  there  that  it  seems 
like  home.  We  know  that  it  is  not  so  com- 
fortable, but  it  seems  like  home." 

However,  the  Cocks  had  their  wish,  and  on 
the  day  when  it  was  granted  there  was  such  a 
crowing  from  fence-tops  as  greatly  puzzled 
the  Man.  He  could  not  find  anything  in  his 
books  and  papers  to  explain  it,  although  he 


The  New  Nests  and  the  Nest  Eggs    79 

looked  and  looked  and  looked.  At  last  one 
of  the  Little  Girls  told  him  what  she  thought, 
and  she  was  exactly  right.  "It  sounds  to 
me  as  though  they  were  just  happy,"  she 
said.  You  see  the  Man  had  not  lived  long 
enough  on  a  farm  to  understand  the  language 
of  poultry  very  well,  so  he  had  much1  to 
learn.  There  are  many  people  who  think 
themselves  quite  wise  and  yet  cannot  tell 
what  one  of  a  tiny  Chicken's  five  calls  means, 
and  there  are  some  Men,  even  some  fathers 
(and  fathers  need  to  know  more  than  any- 
body else  in  the  world,  except  mothers)  who 
do  not  know  that  a  Cock  can  say  at  least 
nine  different  things  with  the  same  cry, 
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" 

This  Man  was  a  father  and  had  been  a 
school-teacher,  too,  so  he  was  not  an  ignorant 
Man,  and  after  his  Little  Girl  said  that  he  de- 
cided to  learn  poultry-talk.  It  took  some 
weeks,  but  you  shall  hear  by  and  by  how  well 
he  succeeded. 

The  Man  wanted  to  teach  the  Hens  to  lay 
in  the  new  nests,  so  that  he  would  not  have 


8o  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

to  spend  much  time  in  egg-hunting,  and  be- 
cause he  wished  to  be  sure  of  finding  the  eggs 
as  soon  as  they  were  laid.  People  should 
grow  good  as  they  grow  old,  you  know,  but 
it  is  not  so  with  the  eggs.  The  Man  did  not 
want  to  shut  the  fowls  in  during  the  warm 
weather,  for  then  he  would  have  to  feed  them 
more,  and  that  would  cost  too  much  money, 
yet  he  opened  this  front  pen  with  its  scratch- 
ing-shed  and  yard,  and  fed  them  there  every 
night.  While  they  were  feeding  he  closed  the 
outer  gate,  so  that  they  could  not  go  back  to 
roost  on  the  trees  or  wherever  they  chose. 
The  perches  were  comfortable,  with  room 
enough  for  all,  and  far  enough  apart  so  that 
those  in  the  back  rows  did  not  have  their  bills 
brushed  by  the  tails  of  those  in  front. 

The  Hens  who  had  Chickens  were  now  kept 
in  the  second  pen  from  this,  and  so  were  quite 
safe  from  prowling  Weasels  and  other  hunters. 
In  the  front  pen,  you  see,  there  were  only 
full-grown  fowls,  and  morning  was  a  busy 
time  for  most  of  the  laying  Hens.  The  gate 
was  not  opened  until  the  sun  was  well  up,  and 


The  New  Nests  and  the  Nest  Eggs    81 

by  that  time  many  of  the  Hens  had  laid  in  one 
of  the  cosy  nests  tinder  the  perches,  nests 
which  were  so  well  roofed  over  that  not  even 
a  pin-feather  could  have  dropped  into  them 
from  above.  They  were  so  very  comfortable 
that  even  the  Hens  who  did  not  lay  before 
leaving  the  pen  were  soon  glad  to  come 
strolling  back  to  it,  instead  of  fluttering  and 
scrambling  to  some  lonely  corner  of  the  hay- 
loft in  the  barn. 

On  the  first  morning  that  the  fowls  were 
shut  in  there,  a  very  queer  thing  happened. 
The  first  Hen  to  go  on  a  nest  exclaimed, 
"Why,  who  was  here  ahead  of  me?" 

Nobody  answered,  and  the  Hen  asked  again. 

At  last  the  Speckled  Hen  said,  "  I  think  you 
are  the  first  one  to  lay  this  morning." 

"  The  first  one ! "  exclaimed  the  Black  Hen, 
for  it  was  she,  as  she  backed  out  onto  the 
floor  again.  "You  must  not  expect  me  to 
believe  that  I  am  the  first  when  there  is  an 
egg  in  the  nest  already."  As  she  spoke  she 
pointed  in  with  her  bill,  and  the  others  came 
crowding  around. 

6 


82  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

There  lay  a  fine,  large,  and  quite  shiny  egg. 
While  they  were  still  looking  and  wondering 
which  Hen  had  laid  it,  the  Brown  Hen  dis- 
covered that  there  was  an  egg  in  each  of  the 
six  other  nests.  She  was  so  excited  that  for 
a  minute  she  could  hardly  cackle.  The 
Black  Hen  began  to  look  angry,  and  stood 
her  feathers  on  end  and  shook  herself  in  a  way 
that  she  had  when  she  was  much  displeased. 
She  was  not  a  good-natured  Hen. 

"You  think  that  you  are  very  smart,"  she 
said,  "but  I  think  that  you  are  very  silly. 
Every  fowl  here  knows  that  I  always  like  to 
be  the  first  on  the  nest  in  the  morning,  and 
yet  seven  of  you  must  have  laid  in  the  night 
to  get  ahead  of  me.  I  don't  mind  having  an 
egg  in  the  nest.  Every  Hen  likes  to  find  at 
least  one  there.  It  is  the  mean  way  in  which 
you  tried  to  prevent  my  getting  ahead  of  the 
rest  of  you." 

The  Hens  insisted  that  they  never  took  their 
feet  from  the  perches  all  night  long,  and  the 
Speckled  Hen,  who  was  a  very  kind  little 
person,  tried  to  show  the  Black  Hen  that  it 


The  New  Nests  and  the  Nest  Eggs    83 

was  all  a  mistake  of  some  sort.  "Perhaps 
they  were  laid  in  there  yesterday,"  said  she, 
"  only  we  did  not  notice  them  when  we  came 
in." 

The  Cocks  kept  still,  although  they  looked 
very  knowing.  They  did  not  want  to  offend 
any  of  the  Hens  by  taking  sides.  At  last  the 
Brown  Hen  spoke.  It  always  seemed  that 
she  made  some  trouble  every  time  she 
opened  her  bill.  "I  remember,"  said  she, 
"  that  there  was  not  an  egg  there  when  I  went 
to  roost  last  night.  The  last  thing  I  did  be- 
fore flying  up  onto  my  perch  was  to  look 
in  all  the  nests  and  try  to  decide  which  I 
preferred." 

Then  there  was  more  trouble,  and  in  the 
midst  of  it  the  Speckled  Hen  hopped  into  one 
of  the  nests.  "Sorry  to  get  ahead  of  you," 
she  said  politely  to  the  Black  Hen,  "but  the 
truth  is  that  I  feel  like  laying."  She  gave  a 
little  squawk  as  she  brushed  against  the  egg 
there.  "  It  is  light ! "  she  cried.  "  It  is  light 
and  slippery!  None  of  us  ever  laid  such  an 
egg  as  that." 


84  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

"Of  course  not,"  said  one  of  the  Cocks, 
who  now  saw  his  way  to  stop  the  trouble. 
"  Of  course  none  of  you  lay  that  sort  of  eggs. 
I  could  have  told  you  that  long  ago,  if  you 
had  asked  me." 

When  the  fowls  were  all  looking  at  each 
other  and  wondering  what  sort  of  creature  it 
could  be  who  had  slipped  in  and  laid  the  eggs 
there,  a  tiny  door  in  the  outside  wall,  just 
back  of  one  of  the  nests,  was  opened,  and  the 
Man  peeped  in.  All  he  saw  was  a  number  of 
fowls  standing  around  and  looking  as  though 
they  had  been  very  much  surprised.  Half  of 
the  Hens  stood  with  one  foot  in  the  air.  He 
dropped  the  door,  which  was  hinged  at  the 
top,  and  then  the  fowls  looked  at  each  other 
again.  It  was  a  great  comfort  to  them  at 
times  like  these  to  be  able  to  look  both  ways 
at  once.  "  The  Man  opened  those  little  doors 
while  we  were  asleep,  and  put  those  eggs  in," 
they  said.  "They  are  not  Hens'  eggs  at  all. 
Probably  they  are  some  that  his  table  laid." 

It  was  only  a  minute  before  all  the  nests 
were  in  use,  and  soon  the  noise  of  puzzled 


The  New  Nests  and  the  Nest  Eggs    85 

and  even  angry  clucking  was  replaced  by  the 
joyous  cackling  of  Hens  who  felt  that  they 
had  done  their  work  for  the  day.  "Of 
course,"  said  the  Speckled  Hen,  "those  eggs 
cannot  be  so  good  as  the  ones  we  lay,  but  I 
do  not  mind  the  feeling  of  them  at  all.  And 
I  must  say  that  finding  them  already  in  a 
strange  nest  makes  it  seem  much  more  home- 
like to  me.  This  Man  acts  as  though  he 
really  understood  Hens  and  wanted  to  make 
them  happy." 


THE  WHITE  PLYMOUTH  ROCKS 
COME 

ONLY  a  few  days  after  the  new  poultry- 
house  had  been  opened  to  the  fowls  on 
the  place,  the  Man  came  home  from  town 
with  a  crate  in  his  light  wagon.  In  the  crate 
were  a  Cock  and  ten  Hens.  All  were  very 
beautiful  White  Plymouth  Rocks,  and  larger 
than  any  of  the  fowls  on  the  place  would  have 
supposed  possible.  You  can  imagine  what 
a  scurrying  to  and  fro  there  was  among  those 
who  had  always  lived  on  the  place,  and  how 
many  questions  they  asked  of  each  other, 
questions  which  nobody  was  able  to  answer. 

"Are  they  to  live  on  this  farm?"  said  one. 

"It  must  be  so,"  answered  another. 
"  Don't  you  see  that  the  Man  is  getting  ready 
to  open  the  crate?" 

"Where  do  you  suppose  they  came  from?" 

86 


The  White  Plymouth  Rocks  Come     87 

asked  a  third.     "  Why,  they  are  almost  as  big 
as  Turkeys." 

"Altogether  too  large,  I  think,"  said  a 
Bantam.  "  It  makes  fowls  look  coarse  to  be 
so  overgrown." 

"  What  is  that  ? "  asked  the  Shanghai  Cock, 
sharply.  He  had  come  up  from  behind  with- 
out the  Bantam's  seeing  him,  and  she  hardly 
knew  what  to  answer.  She  lowered  her  head 
and  pecked  at  the  ground,  because  she  did  not 
know  what  to  say.  She  dared  not  tell  the 
Shanghai  Cock,  who  was  very  tall,  that  she 
thought  large  fowls  looked  coarse.  So  she 
kept  still.  It  would  have  been  much  better 
if  she  had  held  up  her  head  and  told  the  truth, 
which  was  that  she  disliked  to  have  large 
fowls  around,  since  it  made  her  seem  smaller. 

"I  think,"  said  the  Shanghai  Cock,  "that 
if  a  fowl  is  good,  the  more  there  is  of  him  the 
better.  If  he  is  not  good,  the  smaller  he  is 
the  better."  He  looked  over  towards  the 
wagon  as  he  spoke,  but  the  Bantam  knew  that 
he  meant  her,  and  then  she  was  even  more 
uncomfortable.  She  thought  people  were 


88  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

all  looking  at  her,  and  she  felt  smaller  than 
ever. 

The  Man  backed  the  wagon  up  to  the  outer 
gate  of  the  second  poultry-yard,  which  was 
just  between  the  one  where  the  Chickens  were 
with  their  mothers  and  the  one  into  which  the 
older  fowls  were  allowed  to  go.  Then  he 
loosened  the  side  of  the  crate  very  carefully 
and  took  the  new-comers  out,  one  at  a  time. 
He  had  to  hold  the  side  of  the  crate  with  his 
hand,  so  the  only  way  in  which  he  could  lift 
the  fowls  out  was  by  taking  them  by  the  legs 
in  his  other  hand  and  putting  them,  head 
downward,  into  the  yard.  One  would  think 
that  it  might  be  quite  annoying  to  a  fowl  to 
have  to  enter  his  new  home  in  that  fashion, 
with  all  the  others  watching,  but  the  White 
Plymouth  Rocks  did  not  seem  to  mind  it  in 
the  least.  Perhaps  that  was  because  they 
had  been  carried  so  before  and  were  used  to 
it.  Perhaps,  too,  it  was  because  they  felt 
sure  that  the  fowls  who  were  standing  around 
had  also  been  carried  by  the  legs.  Perhaps  it 
was  just  because  they  were  exceedingly  sen- 


TOOK  THE  NEW-COMERS  OUT,  ONE  AT  A  TIME. 


The  White  Plymouth  Rocks  Come     89 

sible  fowls  and  knew  that  such  things  did  not 
matter  in  the  least.  At  all  events,  each  Hen 
gave  herself  a  good  shake  when  allowed  to  go 
free,  settled  her  feathers  quickly,  and  began  to 
walk  around.  The  Cock  did  the  same,  only 
he  crowed  and  crowed  and  crowed,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  How  fine  it  is  to  be  able  to  stretch 
once  more !  A  fellow  could  not  get  room  to 
crow  properly  in  that  crate." 

Now  everybody  knows  that  the  poultry 
who  had  been  long  on  the  place  should  have 
spoken  pleasantly  to  the  White  Plymouth 
Rocks  at  once.  It  would  have  made  them 
much  happier  and  would  have  been  the  kind 
thing  to  do.  They  did  not  do  it,  and  there 
were  different  reasons  for  this.  The  Shang- 
hai Cock  was  so  used  to  saying  disagreeable 
things  every  day  to  the  fowls  whom  he  knew, 
that  now,  when  he  really  wanted  very  much 
to  be  agreeable,  he  found  he  did  not  know 
how.  There  are  many  people  in  the  world 
who  have  that  trouble.  The  Bantam  Hen 
was  cross,  and  walked  away,  saying  to  her- 
self, "  I  guess  they  are  big  enough  to  take 


go  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

care  of  themselves."  And  that  was  a  mis- 
take, as  you  very  well  know,  for  nobody 
in  this  world  is  big  enough  to  be  perfectly 
happy  without  the  kindness  and  friendship 
of  others. 

As  for  the  rest  of  the  fowls,  some  of  them 
did  n't  care  about  being  polite ;  some  of  them 
did  n't  know  what  was  the  best  thing  to  say 
and  so  did  not  say  anything;  and  some 
thought  it  would  not  do  to  talk  to  them,  be- 
cause they  were  not  so  large  and  fine-looking 
as  the  White  Plymouth  Rocks.  They  really 
wanted  to  do  the  kind  thing,  but  were  afraid 
they  did  not  look  well  enough.  As  though 
kindness  were  not  a  great  deal  more  import- 
ant than  the  sort  of  feathers  one  wears! 

The  White  Plymouth  Rocks  did  the  best 
that  they  could  about  it.  They  chatted 
pleasantly  among  themselves,  saying  that  it 
was  a  fine  day,  and  that  it  seemed  good  to  set 
foot  on  grass  once  more,  and  that  they  had 
sadly  missed  having  a  bit  of  grass  to  eat  with 
their  grain  and  water  while  they  were  in  the 
crate. 


The  White  Plymouth  Rocks  Come     91 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  Barred  Ply- 
mouth Rock  Hen  in  the  next  yard  came  over 
to  the  wire  netting  which  separated  the  two. 
She  would  have  come  sooner  if  it  had  not  been 
for  her  Chickens.  Two  of  them  had  been 
quarrelling  over  a  fat  bug  which  they  found, 
and  she  stayed  to  settle  the  trouble  and  scold 
them  as  they  deserved.  Now  she  came 
stepping  forward  in  her  very  best  manner  to 
greet  the  strangers.  She  knew  that  she  was 
not  so  large  as  they,  and  that  her  barred 
gray  feathers  were  not  nearly  so  showy  as 
their  gleaming  white  ones,  but  she  also  knew 
that  somebody  should  welcome  them  to  the 
farm,  and  she  was  ashamed  that  it  had  not 
been  done  sooner. 

" Good-morning,"  said  she.  "I  am  very 
glad  that  you  have  come  here  to  live." 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  replied  all  the  White 
Plymouth  Rocks  together.  "We  are  very 
glad  to  meet  you.  We  hope  to  be  happy 
here." 

"Have  you  come  far?"  asked  the  Barred 
Plymouth  Rock  Hen. 


92  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

"Very  far,"  said  they.  "  Unless  you  have 
taken  such  a  journey  you  can  have  no  idea 
how  glad  we  are  to  be  free  again." 

"I  have  never  taken  any  journey,"  said 
she,  "  except  the  time  I  came  here  to  live,  and 
that  was  when  I  was  only  a  Chicken.  I  do 
not  remember  much  about  it.  I  fluttered 
out  of  a  crate  that  was  being  carried  in  a 
wagon,  and  ran  around  alone  until  I  happened 
to  find  this  place." 

"  How  sad ! "  exclaimed  the  Cock.  "  I  hope 
you  have  had  no  such  hard  time  since. 
They  seem  to  have  a  good  poultry-house  here, 
although  I  have  not  yet  been  inside." 

"It  is  a  good  one,"  said  the  Barred  Ply- 
mouth Rock  Hen,  "but  I  do  not  sleep  in  it 
these  warm  nights.  I  stay  in  a  coop  in  my 
yard  with  my  children."  As  she  spoke  she 
looked  lovingly  down  at  the  white  flock 
around  her  feet.  They  were  growing  finely 
and  already  showed  some  small  feathers  on 
their  wings. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  Hens  in  the  other 
yard.  "Oh,  what  beautiful  Chickens!  So 


The  White  Plymouth  Rocks  Come     93 

strong!  So  quick!  So  well-behaved!  How 
long  is  it  since  you  hatched  them?" 

"Well,"  replied  their  mother,  "  I  suppose  I 
did  not  hatch  them.  I  sat  long  enough  on 
the  nest  and  laid  enough  eggs,  but  the  Man 
who  owns  the  farm  took  away  my  eggs  and 
brought  me  these  Chickens.  He  has  a  sort  of 
table  down  in  his  cellar  which  hatches  out  all 
the  Chickens  on  the  farm.  I  might  just  as 
well  have  saved  myself  all  those  tiresome 
days  and  nights  of  sitting  if  I  had  known 
how  it  would  be." 

"That  is  a  good  thing  to  know,"  said  one  of 
the  new-comers.  "On  the  farm  from  which 
we  came,  all  the  Chickens  are  hatched  in  that 
way.  We  never  had  a  mother  who  was  alive. ' ' 

"  Not  until  after  you  were  hatched  I  sup- 
pose," remarked  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock 
Hen,  who  thought  the  other  did  not  mean 
exactly  what  she  had  said. 

"We  had  no  real  mother  then,"  said  the 
White  Plymouth  Rock  Hen.  "There  were 
so  many  of  us  that  we  had  to  get  along  with- 
out. The  Man  who  owned  us  had  a  lot  of 


94  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

things  to  take  the  place  of  mothers.  They 
were  made  of  wood  and  some  soft  stuff  and  he 
used  to  set  them  around  in  the  yards  on  pleas- 
ant days.  We  ate  the  food  and  drank  the 
water  that  were  brought  to  us,  and  then  we 
played  around  in  the  grass  near  the  make- 
believe  mothers.  When  we  were  tired  or  cold 
we  crawled  under  them  and  cuddled  down, 
and  when  we  were  scared  we  did  the  same 
way.  We  were  very  well  cared  for  by  the 
Men,  and  we  all  grew  to  be  strong  and  healthy 
fowls,  but  I  sometimes  wish  that  we  could 
have  had  a  live  mother  to  snuggle  under  and 
to  love." 

The  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  was 
greatly  surprised.  "  I  think  it  is  well  to  save 
the  Hens  having  to  hatch  out  the  broods," 
she  said,  "but  they  should  be  willing  to  care 
for  the  Chickens.  There  is  nothing  quite  so 
good  as  a  live  mother." 

Another  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  strolled  up. 
"I  have  been  in  the  pen  and  the  scratch- 
ing-shed,"  said  she,  "and  I  think  them 
delightful." 


The  White  Plymouth  Rocks  Come     95 

"Are  they  at  all  like  what  you  had  before 
coming  here?"  asked  the  Barred  Plymouth 
Rock  Hen. 

"Very  much  the  same,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Only  on  the  farm  from  which  we  came  there 
were  a  great,  great  many  more  pens.  It  took 
four  Men  to  care  for  us  all.  Most  of  us  were 
White  Plymouth  Rocks.  What  are  those 
fowls  outside  ?  We  never  saw  any  that  looked 
just  like  them." 

"Oh,"  replied  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock 
Hen  with  a  little  smile,  "they  don't  know 
exactly  what  they  are.  The  Shanghai  Cock 
is  a  Shanghai,  as  any  one  can  tell  by  looking 
at  his  long  and  feathery  legs,  but  he  and  I  are 
the  only  ones  who  belong  to  fine  families.  He 
is  really  an  excellent  fellow,  although,  of 
course,  being  a  Shanghai  is  not  being  a  Ply- 
mouth Rock." 

"Of  course  not,"  agreed  all  the  new  fowls, 
speaking  quite  together.  "We  understand 
perfectly.  You  mean  that  he  is  a  very  good 
Shanghai." 

"Exactly,"    said    the    Barred    Plymouth 


96  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

Rock  Hen.  "The  other  fowls  think  him 
rather  cross,  but  he  never  has  been  cross  to 
me.  I  think  he  gets  tired  of  hearing  some  of 
them  quarrel  and  fuss,  and  then  he  speaks 
right  out." 

"One  has  to  at  times,"  said  the  Cock, 
politely,  for  he  saw  that  the  Barred  Plymouth 
Rock  Hen  wished  him  to  like  her  friends. 
"When  you  can,"  he  added,  "tell  him  that 
I  would  like  to  meet  him.  I  suppose  we  shall 
not  be  allowed  to  go  out  of  our  own  yard,  but 
he  can  come  up  to  the  fence.  And  send  the 
others  also.  We  would  like  to  meet  our  new 
neighbors." 

"I  will,"  replied  the  Barred  Plymouth 
Rock  Hen,  as  she  clucked  to  her  Chickens. 
"Good-by.  I  see  that  we  have  fresh  food 
coming." 

While  her  children  were  feeding  she  pre- 
tended to  eat,  pecking  every  now  and  then  at 
the  food,  and  chatting  softly  with  them  as 
they  ate.  There  was  always  much  to  say 
about  their  manners  at  such  times,  and  she 
had  to  use  both  of  her  eyes  to  make  sure  that 


The  White  Plymouth  Rocks  Come     97 

they  did  not  trample  on  the  food.  She  also 
had  to  remind  them  often  about  wiping  their 
bills  on  the  grass  when  they  had  finished. 
She  could  not  bear  to  see  a  Chicken  running 
around  with  mush  on  the  sides  of  his  bill. 

When  they  had  eaten  all  they  wished  and 
ran  away  to  play,  she  ate  what  was  left  and 
sat  down  to  think.  "  I  would  like  to  be 
white,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  would  cer- 
tainly like  to  be  white,  and  live  in  style  with 
those  fowls  who  have  just  come.  It  must  be 
lovely  to  be  so  important  that  one  is  taken 
riding  on  the  cars  and  lifted  around  carefully 
in  crates." 

Then  she  remembered  how  they  had  spoken 
of  their  legs  aching,  and  how  glad  they  were  to 
be  free  on  the  grass  once  more.  "  I  don't  know 
that  I  would  really  care  about  travelling," 
she  added,  "but  I  would  like  to  live  in  such 
style  with  a  lot  of  fowls  of  my  own  family." 

She  remembered  what  the  Cock  had  said 
about  their  having  to  stay  in  their  own  yard, 
and  she  added,  "  But  I  would  not  want  to 
have  to  stay  always  in  the  same  place." 

7 


98  Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

She  thought  a  little  while  longer  and 
laughed  aloud.  "  I  believe  that  I  would 
really  rather  be  just  what  I  happen  to  be," 
said  she.  "  I  don't  know  why  I  never 
thought  of  that  before." 

You  can  see  that  she  was  a  most  sensible 
Hen.  Many  fowls  never  stop  to  think  that 
if  they  were  to  change  places  with  others, 
they  would  have  to  stand  the  unpleasant  as 
well  as  the  pleasant  part  of  the  change. 

The  little  white  Chickens  came  crowding 
up  to  their  gray  mother.  ' '  Tell  us  what  made 
you  laugh,"  they  said.  "Please  tell  us." 

Her  small  round  eyes  twinkled.  "I  was 
laughing,"  she  said,  "just  because  I  am  my- 
self and  not  somebody  else." 

"  We  don't  see  anything  very  funny  about 
that,"  they  exclaimed.  "Who  else  could 
you  be?" 

The  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  sent  them 
off  to  chase  a  Butterfly,  and  went  to  call  on 
her  nearest  neighbor.  "I  would  like  to  tell 
them,"  she  said,  "but  they  are  too  young  to 
understand  it  yet." 


THE  TURKEY  CHICKS  ARE 
HATCHED 

SPRING  was  always  an  anxious  time  for 
the  Hen  Turkeys  who  wanted  to  raise 
broods.  Raising  children  is  hard  work  and 
brings  many  anxieties  with  it.  The  mother  is 
so  much  afraid  that  they  will  take  cold,  or  eat 
too  much,  or  not  get  enough  to  eat,  or  take 
something  that  is  not  good  for  children.  There 
is  also  the  fear  that  they  may  be  careless  and 
have  some  dreadful  accident.  And,  worst  of 
all,  there  is  always  the  fear  that  they  may  be 
naughty  and  grow  up  the  wrong  sort  of  people. 
These  cares  all  mothers  have,  but  the  Tur- 
key mothers  have  another  care  which  is  really 
very  hard  to  stand,  for  the  Gobblers  do  not 
like  their  children  and  will  try  in  every  way 
to  prevent  the  eggs  from  hatching.  If  a 
Gobbler  sees  one  of  the  Hen  Turkeys  laying 

99 


ioo         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

an  egg,  he  will  break  the  egg,  and  if  he  meets 
a  flock  of  tiny  Turkey  Chicks  he  will  peck  and 
hurt,  perhaps  even  kill,  all  that  he  can  of 
them.  That  is  why  the  Hen  Turkeys  on  the 
farm  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  stealing 
away  to  lay  their  eggs  in  some  secret  place. 
One  had  even  raised  a  fine  brood  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  nettle-patch  the  year  before.  She 
had  slipped  away  from  her  friends  and  from 
the  Gobbler  day  after  day  until  she  had  laid 
thirteen  eggs,  and  then  had  begun  sitting. 
She  had  to  sit  as  long  as  the  Ducks  do,  and 
that  is  for  twenty-eight  days.  You  can  im- 
agine how  tired  she  became,  and  how  many 
times  she  had  kept  very  still,  hardly  daring 
to  move  a  feather,  because  she  heard  the 
Gobbler  near  and  feared  he  would  find  and 
break  her  precious  eggs. 

Now  she  began  to  feel  like  laying,  and 
walked  off  to  the  nettle-patch  once  more. 
She  thought  that  having  had  such  good  luck 
there  before  was  a  reason  for  trying  it  again. 
She  had  hardly  laid  her  fine  large  egg  there 
when  the  Man  came  softly  along  and  picked 


The  Turkey  Chicks  are  Hatched    101 

her  up  by  the  legs.  She  flapped  her  wings 
and  craned  her  head  as  far  upwards  as  she 
could,  yet  he  did  not  loosen  his  hold  on  her. 
He  carried  her  carefully,  but  he  carried  her 
just  the  same. 

When  he  reached  the  poultry-house,  he  put 
her  in  a  pen  by  herself.  Then  he  went  off  to 
the  farmhouse  with  her  newly  laid  egg  in  his 
pocket.  You  can  imagine  how  sad  she  felt. 
If  there  is  one  thing  that  a  Hen  Turkey  likes 
better  than  taking  long  walks,  it  is  raising 
Turkey  Chicks.  In  spite  of  the  weariness 
and  the  anxiety,  she  is  very  fond  of  it.  And 
now  this  one  found  herself  shut  in  and  with- 
out her  egg.  It  is  true  that,  besides  the  pen, 
she  could  go  into  the  scratching-shed  and  the 
big  yard,  yet  even  then  there  was  the  wired 
netting  between  her  and  the  great  world,  and 
her  friends  were  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence. 
She  was  just  wondering  if  she  could  not  fly 
over  the  fence  and  be  free,  when  the  Man 
returned  and  cut  some  of  the  long  feathers 
from  her  right  wing.  Then  she  knew  that 
she  could  not  fly  at  all. 


IO2          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

The  Man  next  made  a  fine  nest  of  hay  in  a 
good-sized  box,  placing  it  in  the  shed  and 
putting  an  egg  into  it.  The  Hen  Turkey 
first  thought  that  it  was  her  own  egg,  but 
when  the  Man  left  and  she  could  come  nearer, 
she  found  that  it  was  not.  Instead,  it  was 
different  from  any  she  had  ever  seen.  She 
tried  sitting  on  it.  "It  feels  all  right,"  she 
said  in  her  gentle  and  plaintive  voice.  "  If  I 
am  still  here  when  I  want  to  lay  another,  I 
will  use  this  nest." 

In  spite  of  her  loneliness  and  sadness,  the 
Hen  Turkey  managed  to  keep  brave  during 
the  days  that  followed.  The  Man  gave  her 
plenty  of  good  corn  and  clean  water,  and  she 
had  many  visits  with  the  Hens  and  their 
Chickens  who  lived  in  the  pen  next  to  hers 
and  ran  about  all  day  in  their  yard.  Of 
course  she  did  not  think  them  so  interesting 
as  Turkey  Chicks,  yet  she  liked  to  watch 
them  and  visit  with  them  between  the  wires. 
It  made  her  want  a  brood  of  her  own  even 
more  than  ever. 

She  still  laid  eggs  right  along,  and  the  Man 


The  Turkey  Chicks  are  Hatched    103 

took  each  away  soon  after  it  was  laid.  She 
feared  that  he  took  them  to  eat,  but  the 
Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  said  that  he 
might  be  giving  them  to  the  table  to  hatch, 
and  that  she  should  not  worry.  "  I  had  just 
such  a  time  myself,"  she  added,  "and  it  all 
came  out  right.  You  see  if  he  does  not  bring 
you  some  fine  Turkey  Chicks  soon." 

This  always  cheered  the  Hen  Turkey  for  a 
time,  but  even  if  it  were  to  be  so,  she  thought, 
she  would  prefer  to  hatch  her  own  eggs.  She 
did  not  know  that  the  Man  had  every  one  of 
hers  in  a  basket  in  a  dry,  warm  place  in  the 
house,  and  was  turning  each  over  carefully 
every  day.  This  he  did  to  keep  them  in  the 
best  possible  way  until  there  should  be  a  nest- 
ful  for  her  to  sit  on. 

Sometimes  the  Gobbler  and  the  two  other 
Hen  Turkeys  came  up  to  the  fence  to  visit 
with  her.  They  never  stayed  long,  because 
they  came  of  a  restless  and  wandering  family, 
yet  it  did  her  good  to  have  chats  with  them, 
even  if  they  walked  back  and  forth  part  of 
the  time  as  they  talked.  The  Gobbler  paid 


IO4          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

very  little  attention  to  her.  He  told  her 
once  that  the  Hen  Turkeys  who  were  foolish 
enough  to  try  to  raise  broods  deserved  to  be 
shut  up  and  have  their  wings  clipped.  She 
had  better  visits  with  her  sisters  when  he  was 
not  there  to  listen.  One  of  them  told  her 
that  she  had  several  eggs  hidden  under  a 
sumach  bush  in  a  fence  corner.  The  other 
said  that  she  was  trying  to  decide  on  a  nest- 
ing-place ;  she  could  n't  choose  between  a 
corner  of  the  lower  meadow  and  the  edge  of 
the  woods.  Both  of  them  spoke  very  softly, 
and  frequently  looked  over  toward  where  the 
Gobbler  was  strutting  in  the  sunshine.  They 
were  much  afraid  that  he  would  hear. 

When  her  sisters  walked  away,  the  Hen 
Turkey  in  the  yard  felt  sadder  than  ever. 
She  strolled  back  into  the  shed  and  tried  to 
think  of  something  pleasant  to  do.  She  had 
not  laid  an  egg  for  two  days,  and  she  was 
very  lonely.  You  can  imagine  how  pleased 
and  happy  she  was  to  see  eleven  fine  Turkey 
eggs  lying  in  her  nest.  The  queer  egg  which 
she  had  not  laid  was  gone,  and  she  felt  certain 


The  Turkey  Chicks  are  Hatched    105 

that  those  there  were  all  her  own.  She  got 
on  the  nest  at  once,  and  found  that  she  could 
exactly  cover  them.  "How  lucky!"  she 
thought.  ' '  If  there  were  another  one  it  would 
be  too  many  and  I  could  not  keep  it  warm." 

She  did  not  know  she  had  laid  fifteen  eggs, 
and  that  the  Man  had  taken  the  other  four 
down  cellar  to  be  hatched  by  the  incubator. 
She  thought  it  just  luck  that  there  were  pre- 
cisely enough.  She  did  not  know  the  Man 
had  read  in  one  of  his  books  that  a  Hen  Tur- 
key can  safely  cover  only  eleven  eggs.  There 
are  several  things  better  than  luck,  you  see. 
Willingness  to  study  is  one  and  willingness 
to  work  is  another.  This  Man  had  both 
kinds  of  willingness,  and  it  was  well  for  his 
poultry  that  he  had. 

There  is  not  much  to  be  told  about  the 
days  that  passed  before  the  first  Turkey 
Chick  chipped  the  shell.  The  sun  shone  into 
the  open  front  of  the  shed  for  twenty-eight 
days,  and  the  patient  Hen  Turkey  was  there, 
sitting  on  her  nest.  The  moon  shone  into 
the  shed  for  many  nights,  and  she  was  still 


io6          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

there.  The  moon  could  not  shine  in  for 
twenty-eight  nights  for  two  reasons.  Some- 
times it  set  too  early,  and  sometimes  the 
nights  were  cloudy  and  wet,  although  none  of 
the  days  were. 

When  it  rained  the  Turkey  was  the  hap- 
piest. She  did  not  like  wet  weather  at  all.  It 
was  for  this  reason  she  was  happy.  Every 
shower  reminded  her  how  wet  it  must  be  out 
in  the  nettle-patch,  and  made  her  think  how 
cosy  and  happy  she  was  in  the  place  which 
the  Man  had  made  ready  for  her. 

Then  came  the  joyous  day  on  which 
ten  little  Turkey  Chicks  chipped  the  shell. 
They  were  very  promising  children,  quite 
the  finest,  their  mother  thought,  that  she  had 
ever  seen.  There  was  only  one  sad  thing 
about  the  day,  and  that  was  not  having  the 
eleventh  egg  hatch.  The  Turkey  Hen  was 
too  happy  with  her  ten  children  to  spend 
much  time  in  thinking  of  the  other  which  she 
had  hoped  to  have,  but  she  could  not  help 
remembering  once  in  a  while,  and  then  she 
became  very  sad. 


The  Turkey  Chicks  are  Hatched    107 

It  was  not  until  the  next  morning  that  the 
ten  little  ones  began  to  eat  and  to  run  around. 
Young  Turkeys  do  not  eat  at  all  the  first  day, 
you  know,  but  they  always  make  up  for  it 
afterwards. 

When  the  Hen  Turkey  walked  out  of  the 
shed  with  her  family,  the  Hens  in  the  next 
yard  crowded  to  the  fence  to  see  them. 
The  little  White  Plymouth  Rocks  could  not 
understand  for  a  long  time  why  the  Turkey 
Chicks  should  be  so  large.  *'It  isn't  fair," 
they  said.  "Those  Turkey  Chicks  will  be 
grown  up  long  before  we  are ! ' '  They  thought 
that  to  be  grown  up  was  the  finest  thing  in 
the  world. 

The  Hens  were  very  friendly  and  chatted 
long  about  them,  telling  the  fond  mother  how 
very  slender  their  necks  were  and  how  neat 
their  little  feet  looked,  with  the  tiny  webs 
coming  half-way  to  the  tips  of  their  toes.  "  I 
am  very  glad  for  you,"  said  the  Barred  Ply- 
mouth Rock  Hen.  "  I  was  sure  that  it  would 
all  come  out  right  in  the  end.  This  Man 
takes  excellent  care  of  his  poultry." 


io8         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

After  a  while  the  Gobbler  came  strutting 
past.  When  he  saw  his  children,  he  stood  his 
feathers  on  end  and  dragged  his  wings  on  the 
ground.  He  was  exceedingly  angry,  and 
would  have  liked  it  very  well  if  they  had  been 
on  his  side  of  the  fence. 

"Ugly  little  things!"  he  said  to  their 
mother.  "  They  will  tag  around  after  you  all 
the  rest  of  the  summer." 

"Very  well,"  she  replied.  "  I  shall  like  to 
have  them." 

"Silly— silly—silly!"  said  the  Gobbler,  as 
he  strutted  off. 

The  Hen  Turkey's ,  sisters  came  walking 
slowly  toward  her.  Both  of  them  were  sit- 
ting on  eggs,  and  had  left  their  nests  for  a  few 
minutes  to  find  food.  Of  course  they  could 
not  make  a  long  call.  "  I  built  in  the  edge  of 
the  woods  after  all,"  said  the  one  who  had 
been  so  undecided.  "  I  wanted  you  to  know, 
but  don't  tell  anybody  else,  or  the  Gobbler 
may  hear  of  it  and  find  the  nest."  Then  she 
spoke  of  the  ten  Turkey  Chicks  and  asked  the 
other  sister  to  notice  how  much  they  looked 


The  Turkey  Chicks  are  Hatched    109 

like  their  mother.  After  that  they  had  to 
hurry  back  to  their  nests. 

When  the  Hen  Turkey  called  her  Chicks  to 
cuddle  down  for  the  night,  she  found  four 
already  in  the  shed,  eating  from  the  food- 
dish. 

"  I  thought  you  were  all  outside  with  me," 
she  remarked.  "  Why  did  you  come  in  here? " 

"We  couldn't  help  ourselves,"  said  they. 
"Some  very  large  creature  brought  us  here 
just  now.  We  came  from  a  darker  place 
than  this." 

The  mother  was  very  much  puzzled.  She 
knew  that  she  had  not  hatched  them,  and 
that  they  could  not  belong  to  her  sisters,  who 
had  begun  sitting  after  she  did.  There  was 
no  way  of  taking  them  to  any  other  place  for 
the  night,  so  she  decided  to  do  the  kind  thing 
and  care  for  them  herself.  She  was  quite 
right  in  this.  One  is  never  sorry  for  having 
done  the  kind  thing,  you  know,  but  one  is 
very  often  sorry  for  having  done  the  unkind 
thing.  "Crawl  right  under  my  wings,"  said 
she,  "and  cuddle  down  with  these  other 


no         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

Turkey  Chicks.  I  will  try  to  cover  you 
all." 

She  managed  very  well  and  the  night  was 
warm,  so  that  although  a  few  of  the  Chicks 
were  not  wholly  covered  all  the  time,  they 
got  along  very  comfortably  indeed.  By  the 
next  morning  the  mother  loved  the  four  as 
much  as  she  did  her  own  ten.  "It  really 
does  n't  matter  in  the  least  who  hatched 
them,"  she  said,  "or  even  who  laid  the  eggs. 
They  need  a  mother  and  I  can  love  them  all. 
It  would  be  a  shame  if  I  could  n't  stretch  my 
wings  a  little  more  for  the  sake  of  covering 
them."  She  never  knew  that  they  had  been 
hatched  in  the  incubator  from  the  four  eggs 
which  she  had  laid,  but  which  the  Man  had 
thought  she  could  not  cover.  You  see  she 
was  really  adopting  her  own  children  without 
knowing  it. 

Turkey  mothers  are  hungry  creatures,  and 
do  not  understand  that  they  should  not  eat 
the  hard-boiled  eggs  which  are  the  best  food 
for  their  Chicks  when  very  small.  So  the 
Man  had  either  to  shut  this  mother  in  the 


The  Turkey  Chicks  are  Hatched    1 1 1 

shed  and  place  the  food  for  the  Chicks  out- 
side, where  she  could  not  reach  it,  or  else 
find  some  other  way  of  keeping  it  from  her. 
He  thought  a  Turkey  who  had  sat  so  closely 
on  her  nest  for  four  weeks  should  be  allowed 
to  stretch,  so  he  put  the  food  for  the  children 
in  a  coop  and  left  the  mother  free.  The 
little  ones  could  run  in  and  out  whenever 
they  wanted  to  eat,  and  the  mother  had 
plenty  of  corn  and  water  outside,  so  they  were 
all  well  cared  for  and  happy.  The  Gobbler 
said  unkind  things  to  them  each  time  he 
passed,  but  they  were  too  happy  and  sensi- 
ble to  mind  that  very  much,  and  it  did  not 
seem  long  before  the  Chicks'  tail-  and  wing- 
feathers  were  showing  through  their  down, 
and  they  were  given  porridge  and  milk  in- 
stead of  hard-boiled  egg.  This  made  them 
feel  that  they  were  growing  up  very  fast 
indeed,  and  they  kept  stretching  their  tiny 
wings  and  looking  around  at  their  funny 
little  tails  to  watch  their  feathers  lengthen. 

On  the  day  when  they  had  their  first  por- 
ridge, their  aunts  and  their  newly  hatched 


H2         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

cousins  were  brought  in  to  share  their  yard 
with  them.  You  can  imagine  what  happy 
times  they  all  had,  playing  together  and 
visiting  through  the  wire  fence  with  their 
next-door  neighbors,  the  White  Plymouth 
Rock  Chickens. 

The  Gobbler  used  to  pass  by  and  try  to 
make  them  and  their  mothers  unhappy  by 
telling  them  of  the  pleasure  they  missed  by 
being  shut  up.  "There  is  fine  food  in  the 
lower  meadow,"  he  said,  "and  the  upper  one 
is  even  better.  There  are  delicious  Bugs  to 
be  found  by  the  side  of  the  road.  But  these 
are  for  me,  and  not  for  silly  Hen  Turkeys  and 
their  good-for-nothing  Chicks." 

One  day  the  outer  gate  of  the  empty  yard 
next  to  theirs  was  left  open  and  some  fine 
corn  strewn  inside,  just  as  the  Gobbler  came 
along.  He  strutted  in  to  eat  the  corn,  think- 
ing a  little  of  it  would  taste  good  before  he 
started  for  the  meadow. 

He  stood  with  his  back  to  the  gate  while 
eating,  and  quite  often  he  stopped  between 
mouthfuls  to  tell  the  Hen  Turkeys  how  fine 


THE  HAPPY  TURKEY  MOTHER  PAUSED  ON  HER  WAY.    Page  113 


The  Turkey  Chicks  are  Hatched    113 

it  was  outside.  Soon  he  noticed  the  Man 
opening  the  gate  of  their  yard  and  letting 
the  oldest  flock  pass  through  with  their 
mother.  He  took  one  hurried  last  mouthful 
and  turned  to  leave.  The  gate  of  his  yard 
was  shut,  and  he  was  too  fat  and  old  to  fly 
over  the  fence. 

The  happy  Turkey  mother  paused  on  her 
way  to  the  meadows  with  her  flock.  She 
was  a  very  patient  creature,  and  would  never 
have  dared  say  anything  of  the  sort  to  the 
Gobbler  when  he  was  free,  but  now  she 
decided  to  say  what  she  wished  for  once. 
"Thank  you  very  much  for  telling  us  about 
the  fine  food  outside,"  said  she.  "We  shall 
soon  be  enjoying  it.  We  shall  first  try  the 
lower  meadow  and  then  the  upper  one.  After 
that  we  shall  hunt  for  those  delicious  Bugs 
which  you  say  may  be  found  by  the  roadside. 
Probably  we  shall  find  plenty  of  dandelion, 
cress,  and  mustard  leaves,  with  a  few  Ants  or 
nettles  to  give  flavor.  It  is  really  very  fine 
outside." 


THREE  CHICKENS  RUN  AWAY 

ONE  would  think  that  with  such  a  good 
mother  as  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock 
Hen,  Chickens  should  have  been  contented 
to  mind  her  and  follow  wherever  she  went, 
and  usually  hers  did.  One  day,  however, 
two  of  the  brothers  coaxed  their  good  little 
sister  to  go  with  them  to  visit  the  Chickens 
at  the  farm  across  the  road.  The  brothers 
had  teased  and  teased  their  mother  to  let 
them  go  there,  but  she  had  always  refused. 

"Why?"  they  said. 

"  Because,"  answered  the  Barred  Plymouth 
Rock  Hen,  "you  have  enough  room  and 
enough  playmates  right  here  at  home,  and  I 
know  that  you  are  safe  and  well  here.  I 
do  not  know  what  might  happen  to  you 
there." 

"Oh,  why  can't  we  go  ? "  teased  the  brothers, 
114 


Three  Chickens  Run  Away       1 1 5 

who  had  just  been  given  an  answer  to  that 
same  question,  and  were  very  rude  to  keep 
on  asking  it. 

Of  course  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen 
had  had  too  much  experience  with  Chickens 
to  reply  again  to  a  question  which  should  not 
have  been  asked  the  second  time,  and  might 
better  not  have  been  asked  the  first.  So  she 
just  turned  her  back  and  walked  off,  cluck- 
ing to  her  brood  as  she  went.  The  brothers 
who  had  been  teasing  did  not  like  that  at  all, 
and  they  put  their  naughty  little  heads 
together  and  decided  to  run  away. 

"Let' s  get  Little  Sister  to  go  along,"  said 
Older  Brother. 

"Why?"  asked  Younger  Brother.  "She 
can't  run  as  fast  as  we  can,  and  she'  s  so  good 
that  it  would  n't  be  much  fun  anyway.  We 
wouldn't  get  across  the  road  before  she'd 
want  to  come  back  and  be  afraid  our  mother 
would  worry  about  us." 

"  That  is  just  why  I  want  her  to  go  along," 
said  Older  Brother.  "We  '11  get  her  to  go, 
and  then  our  mother  will  think  that  we  are 


1 1 6         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

not  any  worse  than  she  is,  and  perhaps 
she  won't  peck  us  so  hard  when  we  get 
back." 

"All  right,"  said  Younger  Brother,  flutter- 
ing his  wings  with  impatience.  "  Let'  s  get 
her  right  now.  I  know  our  mother  won't 
scold  her." 

You  see  both  of  the  brothers  forgot  that  the 
reason  why  their  mother  had  never  scolded 
Little  Sister  was  that  Little  Sister  had  never 
done  anything  wrong.  She  was  really  the 
best  Chicken  in  the  brood,  and  she  had  such  a 
sweet  way  of  running  to  the  Barred  Plymouth 
Rock  Hen  during  the  day  and  cuddling  close 
to  her  for  a  short  rest,  that  it  was  not  strange 
her  mother  was  especially  fond  of  her. 

Now  the  two  naughty  brothers  found  Little 
Sister  and  began  talking  to  her.  ' '  Ever  been 
across  the  road?"  asked  Older  Brother,  care- 
lessly, as  he  snapped  off  a  blade  of  grass. 

"No,"  said  Little  Sister.  "Mother  never 
goes." 

"There  are  some  very  jolly  Chickens  on 
that  farm,"  remarked  Younger  Brother. 


Three  Chickens  Run  Away       117 

"  One  of  them  asked  us  to  come  over  a  little 
while  ago." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  funl"  exclaimed  Little 
Sister.  ' '  Let 's  ask  Mother  if  we  can't  all  go.' ' 

"  Aw,  they  won't  want  the  whole  brood  at 
once,"  said  Older  Brother.  "Besides,  our 
mother  is  way  over  in  the  edge  of  the  pasture 
now,  and  there  isn't  any  use  in  bothering  her. 
I  tell  you  what  let 's  do.  Let 's  just  go  down 
to  our  side  of  the  road  and  see  if  those  other 
Chickens  are  there  now.  Then  we  can  ask 
them  if  they  don't  want  us  to  come  over  some 
other  day." 

You  see  the  brothers  knew  that  it  would 
never  do  to  ask  their  sister  to  run  away  with 
them  at  first,  for  she  would  have  said  "  No," 
and  run  off  to  tell  the  Barred  Plymouth 
Rock  Hen,  and  that  would  have  spoiled  all 
their  naughty  fun. 

The  three  little  White  Plymouth  Rocks  put 
down  their  heads  and  scurried  along  as  fast  as 
they  could  toward  the  road.  Older  Brother 
planned  it  so  that  the  fence  should  hide  them 
from  their  mother  as  they  ran,  but  he  said 


n8         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

nothing  of  this  to  Little  Sister,  for  she  was 
not  used  to  being  naughty,  and  he  knew  that 
he  would  have  to  go  about  it  very  carefully 
to  get  her  to  run  away.  When  they  reached 
the  road  they  saw  the  Chickens  on  the  other 
side,  but  they  were  well  within  their  own 
farm-yard. 

"Oh,  is  n't  that  too  bad!"  exclaimed 
Little  Sister.  "Now  you  can't  ask  them 
what  you  wanted  to." 

"We  might  run  over  and  speak  to  them 
about  it  now,"  said  Younger  Brother. 
"Mother  won't  care.  After  we  have  come 
so  far  to  see  them,  it  seems  too  bad  to  miss 
our  chance.  Come  on  and  we  can  be  across 
before  that  team  gets  here."  Both  the 
brothers  put  down  their  heads  and  ran  as  fast 
as  they  could,  and  Little  Sister  followed  after 
them.  When  they  were  on  the  other  side 
she  began  to  cry  and  wanted  to  go  back. 

"I  n-n-never  did  such  a  thing  in  all  my 
1-1-life,"  she  sobbed,  "  and  I  know  our  mother 
won't  like  it.  Let 's  go  right  back." 

"Oh,  don't  act  like  a  Gosling,"  said  Older 


Three  Chickens  Run  Away       119 

Brother.  "You  're  over  here  now  and  you 
might  as  well  have  a  good  time.  What  if 
our  mother  does  scold  when  we  get  back? 
She  never  wants  us  to  have  a  bit  of  fun,  and 
we  're  just  as  safe  here  as  we  were  at  home." 

Little  Sister  did  not  feel  at  all  happy,  still, 
you  know  how  hard  it  is  to  stop  being 
naughty  when  you  have  once  begun,  and 
she  found  it  hard.  She  would  gladly  have 
returned  at  once  if  her  brothers  had  been 
willing  to  go  with  her,  but  when  she  found 
that  they  were  going  to  stay,  she  stayed  with 
them.  The  Chickens  whom  they  were  visit- 
ing were  very  jolly  and  full  of  fun,  although 
they  were  of  common  families  and  had  not 
been  carefully  brought  up.  They  did  many 
things  which  the  little  White  Plymouth 
Rocks  had  never  been  allowed  to  do,  and  in 
a  short  time  the  visitors  were  doing  just  the 
same  as  they. 

These  Chickens  even  made  fun  of  each 
other  when  they  had  accidents,  and  Little 
Sister  heard  them  laughing  at  three  or  four 
who  were  acting  as  though  they  were  sick 


1 20         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

and  opening  their  bills  very  wide.  "What 
is  the  matter  with  those  Chickens?"  she 
asked. 

"Oh,  they  have  the  gapes,"  answered  one 
of  the  Chickens  who  lived  there,  and  then  he 
began  speaking  of  something  else. 

It  is  very  sad  to  have  to  tell  such  a  thing, 
but  the  truth  is  that  the  three  White  Ply- 
mouth Rock  Chickens  did  not  return  to  their 
home  until  nearly  roosting-time.  Even  Lit- 
tle Sister  pecked  and  squabbled  and  acted 
like  the  rest.  They  walked  up  the  tongue  of 
a  hay  wagon  that  stood  in  the  yard,  and 
scrambled  and  fluttered  until  they  were  on 
the  edge  of  the  rack.  "Dare  you  to  fly 
down  into  the  old  hen-yard,"  said  one  of  the 
Chickens  who  lived  on  the  place.  "  We  used 
to  live  in  there  until  a  few  days  ago,  and 
then  the  Farmer  turned  us  out  and  shut  the 
gate  after  us." 

"Why  did  he  do  that?"  asked  Older 
Brother. 

"I  don't  know,"  was  the  answer.  "No- 
body knows  why  Farmers  do  things.  I  think 


Three  Chickens  Run  Away       121 

he  did  it  just  to  be  mean.  There  were  fine 
Angleworms  in  there,  and  now  we  can't  get 
one  of  them.  Dare  you  to  fly  down  there! 
You  can  get  out  somehow." 

Older  Brother  was  not  brave  enough  to 
refuse,  so  over  he  flew,  and  Younger  Broth- 
er came  after  him.  The  other  Chickens 
fluttered  along  with  them  and  Younger 
Brother  gave  Little  Sister  a  shove  that  sent 
her  over  the  fence  when  he  went.  They 
found  a  great  many  Angleworms  there,  and 
ate  and  ate  and  ate,  and  tried  to  get  the 
largest  ones  away  from  each  other ;  but  after 
a  while  the  Farmer's  Wife  saw  them  and 
came  running  to  shoo  them  out  with  her 
apron.  Little  Sister  was  really  glad  when 
this  happened,  for  she  had  found  no  place 
where  she  could  crawl  through  the  fence. 
She  would  have  told  her  brothers  about  it  if 
she  had  not  feared  that  they  would  laugh  at 
her  and  call  her  a  coward.  She  did  not  know 
that  each  of  them  was  thinking  the  same 
thing  and  dared  not  speak  of  it  for  the  same 
reason.  Of  course  the  Chickens  who  lived  on 


122         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

that  farm  all  the  time  did  not  care  so  much. 
Naughty  Chickens,  like  the  three  little  run- 
aways, are  almost  sure  to  think  about  their 
mothers  when  the  sun  begins  to  set  and  the 
shadows  on  the  grass  grow  long.  Then  they 
begin  to  think  about  home,  too,  and  wish  that 
they  did  not  have  to  be  ashamed  of  them- 
selves. 

When  these  brothers  and  their  sister  got 
out  of  the  hen-yard,  they  started  straight 
for  home.  At  first  they  ran,  and  quite  fast 
too,  but  as  they  got  nearer  they  began  to  go 
more  slowly,  and  once  in  a  while  one  of  them 
would  stop  to  peck  at  something  or  other. 
You  see  they  were  thinking  of  what  the 
Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  would  be  likely 
to  say  to  them.  They  thought  that  they 
would  find  her  in  the  old  coop  where  they  had 
lived  when  first  hatched.  They  ran  the  fields 
now,  yet  always  went  back  there  to  spend 
the  nights. 

They  were  trying  so  hard  to  find  excuses 
for  themselves  that  they  did  not  notice  the 
Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  behind  the 


Three  Chickens  Run  Away       123 

stone-pile  in  the  lane.  She  had  got  the  rest 
of  her  brood  settled  in  the  coop  for  the  night 
and  then  started  out  in  search  of  the  wander- 
ers. As  soon  as  they  passed  the  stone-pile, 
she  ducked  her  head  and  ran  after  them  as 
fast  as  she  could,  dragging  the  tips  of  her 
wings  on  the  ground  and  pecking  at  them 
hard  and  fast.  You  should  have  seen  them 
run.  They  fluttered  their  wings  wildly  and 
never  thought  of  making  excuses.  The  one 
thing  they  remembered  was  that  if  they  only 
reached  the  coop  they  could  crawl  in  under 
their  good  brothers  and  sisters  and  be  safe 
from  their  mother's  bill. 

Little  Sister  got  punished  as  well  as  her 
brothers,  and  that  was  perfectly  right.  For 
she  need  not  have  gone  with  them,  even  if 
they  did  ask  her.  It  may  be  that  her  mother 
did  not  peck  her  quite  so  hard  as  she  did  the 
others,  but  it  was  hard  enough  to  make  her 
glad  to  reach  the  coop  at  last.  The  good 
Chickens  were  almost  asleep  when  these 
three  dived  in  under  them,  and  it  took  some 
time  for  them  all  to  get  settled  again.  The 


1 24         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  sat  down  beside 
the  pile  of  her  children  and  looked  very  hot 
and  severe,  yet  she  did  not  scold  them  then. 

The  rest  of  the  brood  were  sound  asleep 
when  Little  Sister  slipped  out  from  under 
them  to  cuddle  close  to  her  mother.  She 
could  not  sleep  until  she  had  confessed  it  all, 
and  that  shows  that  she  was  a  good  Chicken 
at  heart.  When  she  told  about  their  getting 
into  the  closed  hen-yard,  and  how  they  had 
been  driven  out  of  it,  the  Barred  Plymouth 
Rock  Hen  looked  very  much  startled.  "  Did 
any  of  your  playmates  over  there  go  around 
with  their  mouths  open?"  said  she. 

"Oh  yes,"  replied  Little  Sister.  "A  good 
many  of  them  did,  and  the  rest  of  us  laughed 
at  them."  Then  she  drooped  her  head  be- 
cause she  felt  ashamed  of  having  been  so  rude. 

"I  am  afraid  the  punishment  I  gave  you 
will  be  only  a  small  part  of  it,"  said  the 
Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen;  "but  now  you 
must  go  to  sleep,  and  we  will  not  talk  any 
more  of  your  naughtiness.  You  did  quite 
right  to  tell  me  all  about  it." 


THE  THREE  RUNAWAYS  BECOME 
ILL 

NOBODY  can  tell  just  how  long  it  was 
after  the  Chickens  ran  away,  but  it  was 
certainly  some  little  time,  when  Older  Broth- 
er began  to  have  trouble  about  breathing. 
"There  seems  to  be  something  stuck  in  my 
throat,"  said  he  to  his  mother.  "I  can't 
breathe  without  opening  my  mouth  a  good 
deal." 

"There  is  something  stuck  in  my  throat 
too,"  said  Younger  Brother. 

"And  in  mine,"  added  Little  Sister. 

The  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  looked 
very  sad.  "It  is  just  as  I  expected,"  said 
she. 

At  that  moment  another  brother  ran  up. 
"What 's  the  matter  with  these  Chickens?" 
he  asked  his  mother.  "They  've  been  run- 
125 


126         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

ning  around  all  morning  with  their  mouths 
open,  and  it  makes  them  look  too  silly  for 
anything.  I  don't  want  to  play  with  them 
if  they  can't  keep  their  bills  shut.  I  wish 
you  'd  tell  them  to  stop." 

"They  can't  stop,"  said  the  Barred  Ply- 
mouth Rock  Hen,  sadly.  "They  have  the 
gapes." 

"  What  is  that  ? "  cried  all  the  four  Chickens 
together,  while  three  of  them  looked  badly 
scared. 

"That  is  a  kind  of  illness,"  answered  their 
mother.  "I  have  been  expecting  it  all 
along." 

"What  did  you  let  us  be  sick  for  then?" 
asked  Older  Brother.  "  Why  did  n't  you  tell 
us  to  eat  more  gravel  or  something?  I  don't 
think  it  is  taking  very  good  care  of  us  to  let 
us  get  sick." 

"Now,"  said  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock 
Hen,  and  she  spoke  very  firmly,  "  you  are  not 
to  speak  again  until  you  can  speak  properly. 
On  the  day  you  ran  away  you  played  with 
Chickens  who  had  the  gapes,  and  you  went 


The  Three  Runaways  Become  111    127 

with  them  into  a  closed  hen-yard  and  ate 
Angleworms.  That  is  what  gave  you  the 
gapes.  There  were  tiny  Gapeworms  in  the 
Angleworms,  and  you  swallowed  them.  Now 
the  Gapeworms  are  living  in  your  throats  and 
you  cannot  get  them  out.  The  Farmer  had 
shut  the  poultry  out  of  that  yard  because 
he  knew  that  they  would  become  ill  if  they 
fed  in  there.  Now  you  are  ill  and  I  can't 
help  you." 

Older  Brother  looked  scared.  "How  did 
she  know  what  we  did  over  there?"  he 
whispered  to  Younger  Brother. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Younger 
Brother,  while  he  watched  his  mother  to  be 
sure  that  she  did  not  overhear.  "Mothers 
always  seem  to  find  out  what  a  Chicken  is 
doing,  anyhow." 

Little  Sister  began  to  cry.  "  I  'm  afraid 
we  are  going  to  die,"  she  sobbed.  "  I  feel  so 
very,  very  badly." 

"Shall  we  die?"  asked  the  sick  brothers, 
and  they  were  so  scared  that  their  bills 
chattered.  Their  teeth  would  have  chattered, 


128         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

you  know,  if  they  had  had  teeth,  but  none  of 
their  family  ever  do  have  them. 

"Yes,"  answered  their  mother,  sadly. 
"  You  will  die  unless  something  is  done  to  get 
the  Gapeworms  out  of  your  throat.  I  can- 
not help  you,  for  they  cannot  be  taken  out 
by  creatures  who  have  only  wings  and  feet. 
There  are  times  when  hands  would  be  handy. 
The  only  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  find  the  Man 
and  keep  near  him  until  he  sees  that  you  are 
ill  and  does  something  to  cure  you.  I  will  go 
with  you." 

You  can  imagine  how  sad  the  whole  brood 
felt  when  they  heard  the  news.  The 
brother  who  had  not  wanted  to  play  with 
them  was  much  ashamed  of  himself,  and 
kept  scratching  up  fine  Worms  for  the  sick 
Chickens  to  eat.  He  thought  that  a  good 
way  of  showing  how  sorry  he  felt. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Older  Brother  to 
Younger  Brother.  "  If  I  ever  get  well  again, 
I  '11  mind  my  mother  every  time,  even  if  I 
just  hate  to!" 

"So  will  I,"  said  Younger  Brother.     "I 


The  Three  Runaways  Become  111    129 

wish  we  hadn't  coaxed  Little  Sister  to  go 
along." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  place 
where  the  Man  was  working.  It  seemed  a 
long  while  before  he  noticed  that  three  of 
them  were  sick.  When  he  did,  he  put  his  hat 
on  the  back  of  his  head  and  wiped  his  fore- 
head with  his  handkerchief.  His  handker- 
chief was  white.  The  Farmer  had  always 
carried  red  ones,  and  the  Gobbler  was  much 
pleased  when  he  found  that  the  Man  did 
not. 

"  I  wonder  what  is  the  matter  with  those 
Chickens,"  said  the  Man.  "They  must  be 
sick  in  some  way.  I  will  look  it  up  in  one  of 
my  books." 

That  was  why,  soon  after  this,  the  Man 
came  from  the  house  with  a  small  book  and 
seated  himself  on  the  wheel-barrow  to  read. 
He  would  look  at  the  page  for  a  few  minutes, 
then  put  his  finger  on  a  certain  part  of  it  and 
watch  the  sick  Chickens.  At  last  he  arose 
and  put  the  book  in  his  pocket.  Then  he  got 
a  box  and  a  piece  of  burlap.  He  also  had  a 

9 


130         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

pan  with  some  white  powder  in  it.  He  set 
these  down  close  together  and  threw  grain  to 
the  Chickens.  When  they  came  to  pick  it  up 
he  caught  the  sick  ones  and  put  them  into 
the  box.  "Oh!  Oh!"  they  cried.  "Mother! 
Mother !  The  Man  has  caught  us !  The  Man 
has  caught  us!" 

"Keep  still!  Keep  still!"  clucked  the 
Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen.  "The  Man 
has  to  catch  you  before  he  can  cure  you." 
She  spoke  as  though  she  was  not  in  the  least 
frightened,  but  the  truth  is  that  she  was  very 
badly  scared.  She  could  not  stand  still,  and 
kept  walking  to  and  fro,  clucking  as  fast  as 
she  could.  She  had  never  seen  anybody  use 
a  box  and  powder  for  Chickens  that  had  the 
gapes.  The  Farmer  had  always  made  loops 
of  Horse-hair  and  put  them  down  the  Chick- 
ens' throats  to  catch  and  draw  out  the  tiny 
Worms.  That  was  bad  enough,  and  always 
hurt  the  Chickens,  but  she  had  never  told 
them  beforehand  that  it  would  hurt.  You 
can  see  that  she  was  a  very  brave  Hen,  for 
she  made  her  children  stand  the  hard  times 


The  Three  Runaways  Become  111    131 

that  would  make  them  better,  and  a  Hen 
needs  to  be  very  brave  for  that. 

Now  the  Man  covered  the  open  top  of  the 
box  with  burlap  and  began  to  sift  the  white 
powder  through  it. 

"Ow!"  said  Older  Brother,  coughing  as 
though  he  would  never  stop.  "Ow!  Ow!  I 
can't  breathe!  I  am  stifling!" 

" Ow!"  said  Younger  Brother.  " Ow!  Ow! 
I  can't  stop  coughing!  " 

"Ow!"  said  Little  Sister.  "Ow!  Ow! 
Isn't  this  dreadful!" 

The  three  Chicks  staggered  around  in  the 
box,  coughing  just  as  hard  as  they  could. 
The  dust  which  came  down  through  the  bur- 
lap seemed  to  bite  and  sting  their  throats, 
and  very  soon  they  were  coughing  so  hard 
that  they  could  not  speak  at  all.  The  Man 
was  coughing  too,  but  he  did  not  stop  for  that. 
The  Chickens  who  were  well  could  not  under- 
stand what  the  Man  was  doing  to  the  sick 
ones,  and  it  was  a  very  sad  time  for  the  whole 
family.  At  last  the  Man  uncovered  the  box 
and  lifted  the  Chickens  out,  They  could  not 


132         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

stop  coughing  all  at  once,  yet  they  managed 
to  get  over  to  where  their  mother  was.  Then 
she  spread  her  wings  and  tried  to  cover  them, 
as  she  had  done  when  they  were  first  hatched. 
She  could  not  do  it,  because  they  were  so  big ; 
still,  it  comforted  them  to  have  her  try,  and 
after  a  while  they  were  able  to  speak. 

"Why,"  said  Older  Brother.  "I  must 
have  coughed  up  some  of  the  Gapeworms !  I 
can  breathe  with  my  mouth  shut." 

"So  can  I,"  said  Younger  Brother. 

"So  can  I,"  said  Little  Sister. 

"Then  come  down  to  the  meadow  for  the 
rest  of  the  day,"  said  their  mother.  "We 
can  find  good  feeding  there." 

"We  will  come,"  answered  the  three,  and 
they  were  hardly  away  from  their  mother's 
side  during  the  rest  of  that  day.  Once  they 
got  near  the  fence  that  separated  the  meadow 
from  the  road,  and  a  couple  of  Chickens  from 
the  other  farm  called  to  them  to  come  across. 
"Uh-uh!"  they  answered.  "Our  mother 
doesn't  want  us  to." 

They  did  not  even  ask  their  mother  what 


The  Three  Runaways  Become  111    133 

she  thought  about  their  going,  and  there  was 
no  reason  why  they  should,  for  they  knew 
perfectly  well  that  they  ought  not  to  go. 
When  they  had  walked  so  far  away  that  they 
were  sure  of  not  being  overheard,  they  looked 
each  other  in  the  eye  and  said  solemnly, 
"  You  don't  catch  us  going  where  our  mother 
thinks  we  should  not!" 


THE  YOUNG  COCK  AND  THE  EAGLE 

HPHIS  is  a  sad  story.  It  is  not  pleasant  to 
•1  tell  sad  stories,  but  if  they  were  not  told 
once  in  a  while,  people  would  never  know 
what  really  happens  in  the  world.  '  And 
surely  you  would  not  wish  to  miss  hearing  of 
what  was  really  the  most  exciting  happening 
of  all,  during  that  first  summer  after  the  Man 
bought  the  farm. 

You  remember  having  heard  something 
about  the  Young  Cock.  Before  the  coming 
of  the  White  Plymouth  Rocks,  there  had 
been  only  three  Cocks  on  the  farm.  The 
Shanghai  Cock  was  the  oldest,  and  a  very 
grumpy  fowl,  but  quite  sensible  in  spite 
of  that.  The  White  Cock  was  somewhat 
younger  than  the  Shanghai,  and  was  not  a 
very  strong  fellow.  He  was  always  unhappy 
about  something,  and  it  was  said  that  he  did 
134 


The  Young  Cock  and  the  Eagle   135 

not  eat  enough  gravel.  If  that  was  true,  he 
should  not  have  expected  to  be  well,  since  his 
stomach  would  then  have  no  way  of  grinding 
up  his  food  and  getting  the  strength  out  of  it. 
The  Young  Cock  was  a  strong  and  exceed- 
ingly conceited  fellow.  You  probably  know 
what  conceited  people  are.  They  are  the 
people  who  think  themselves  very  clever,  but 
who  are  not  really  so. 

This  last  one  was  always  called  the  Young 
Cock,  because  the  other  two  were  so  much 
older  than  he,  although  by  this  time  he  was 
old  enough  to  be  over  such  foolishness  as 
bragging  and  picking  quarrels  with  others. 
He  had  feathers  of  many  colors  in  his  coat, 
and  thought  that  one  of  his  great-great- 
great-grandfathers  had  been  a  Game  Cock. 
Game  Cocks,  you  know,  are  often  very  beau- 
tiful to  look  at,  and  are  great  fighters.  He 
was  not  really  sure  about  any  of  his  family 
except  his  mother,  who  had  died  the  year 
before,  and  was  a  very  common-looking  Hen 
of  no  particular  breed.  However,  he  had 
thought  and  talked  so  much  about  Game 


136          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

Cocks  that  he  had  come  really  to  believe 
in  this  great-great-great-grandfather.  It  is 
good  to  have  fine  grandparents,  and  it  is  good 
to  remember  them  and  try  to  be  the  right 
sort  of  grandchildren  for  their  sakes,  but  hav- 
ing fine  grandparents  does  not  always  make 
people  themselves  equally  fine,  and  it  is  not 
wise  to  talk  too  much  about  what  they  have 
been.  It  is  better  to  pay  more  attention  to 
being  what  one  should. 

All  summer  the  Young  Cock  had  been 
growing  more  and  more  annoying  in  his  ways. 
He  made  fun  of  everybody  whom  he  did  not 
like,  and  sometimes  even  of  those  whom  he 
did.  He  crowed  and  strutted  and  strutted 
and  crowed.  He  called  the  Barred  Plymouth 
Rock  Hen  "  an  old  fogy,"  and  the  Brown  Hen 
"  an  old  fuss."  The  Barred  Plymouth  Rock 
Hen  was  not  an  old  fogy,  but  a  middle-aged 
and  very  sensible  fowl,  and  although  the 
Brown  Hen  was  quite  fussy,  she  was  older 
than  the  Young  Cock,  and  he  should  not 
have  spoken  of  her  in  that  way. 

He  did  not  always  go  to  roost  quite  as  soon 


The  Young  Cock  and  the  Eagle   137 

as  the  other  fowls  and,  if  he  found  one  of 
them  in  the  place  which  he  wanted,  he  often 
pushed  and  shoved  until  he  had  the  place  and 
the  other  fowl  landed  on  the  floor.  "Get 
off  of  there,"  the  Young  Cock  would  say. 
"  I  want  that  place.  Move  along  or  get  off ! " 

When  he  was  really  very  young,  the  older 
fowls  had  hoped  that  he  would  outgrow  his 
rude  and  quarrelsome  ways,  so  they  stood  it 
much  longer  than  they  should.  Now  he  was 
older  and  there  was  not  a  single  excuse  to  be 
found  for  him.  He  might  better  have  been 
punished  for  it  when  young,  because  then 
he  would  have  been  well-behaved  when  grown 
up. 

One  morning  he  fluttered  down  from  his 
perch  in  a  very  bad  temper.  Some  of  the 
Pullets,  or  young  Hens,  had  been  making  fun 
of  him  the  night  before  and  comparing  him 
with  the  White  Plymouth  Rock  Cock.  They 
meant  only  to  tease  him,  but  it  had  made 
him  cross,  and  he  awakened  even  more  cross 
after  his  night's  sleep.  He  decided  to  show 
those  Pullets  that  he  was  not  to  be  laughed  at. 


138          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

He  was  thinking  of  this  when  he  stalked  out 
into  the  yard.  Some  of  the  White  Ply- 
mouth Rock  Chickens  ran  along  on  the  other 
side  of  the  wire  fence,  peeping  prettily  and 
wanting  to  talk  with  him. 

"Go  back  to  your  mother,"  he  said. 
"What  business  have  you  to  be  tagging  me 
around  like  this?  I  don't  want  to  talk  to 
you.  Chickens  should  not  speak  until  they 
are  spoken  to.  Run!" 

Of  course  they  ran.  You  would  if  you 
were  a  Chicken  and  a  Cock  should  speak  to 
you  in  that  way.  They  ran  to  their  mother, 
and  it  took  her  a  long  time  to  comfort  them. 

Next  the  Young  Cock  stepped  directly 
across  the  path  of  the  Shanghai  Cock,  stop- 
ping him  in  his  morning  walk.  The  Hens 
who  saw  it  done  expected  the  Shanghai  Cock 
to  fight  him  on  the  spot,  but  they  saw  noth- 
ing of  the  sort.  The  Shanghai  Cock  did  not 
think  it  worth  while.  The  saucy  Pullets 
were  eating  in  a  corner  of  the  yard  and  chat- 
tering over  their  corn. 

"  Would  n't  it  be  fun  to  see  the  Young  Cock 


The  Young  Cock  and  the  Eagle   139 

get  punished  by  the  Shanghai?"  one  of  them 
said. 

"  Why  don't  you  like  him? "  asked  another. 

"I  do  like  him,"  answered  the  first.  "I 
like  him  very  much,  but  he  is  conceited  and 
brags  so  that  I  wish  somebody  would  teach 
him  a  lesson." 

"  Look!"  cried  another.  "  He  is  picking  a 
quarrel  with  the  White  Cock." 

They  looked  and  saw  him  standing  in  front 
of  the  White  Cock  with  his  head  lowered, 
staring  steadily  at  him.  The  White  Cock 
looked  as  though  he  did  not  care  to  fight,  but 
being  no  coward,  he  would  not  turn  his  tail 
toward  the  other  and  run  away.  He  simply 
stood  where  he  was,  and  whenever  the 
Young  Cock  lowered  his  head  the  White  Cock 
lowered  his.  Whenever  the  Young  Cock 
gave  a  little  upward  jerk  to  his  head,  the 
White  Cock  did  the  same.  At  first  he  was 
only  trying  to  protect  himself  and  be  ready 
for  a  blow  if  the  Young  Cock  should  begin  to 
fight  in  earnest.  Pretty  soon  he  began  to 
think  that  he  would  beat  him  if  he  could. 


140          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

He  thought  it  might  be  a  good  time  to  teach 
him  something.  After  that  both  fought  as 
hard  as  they  could,  staring,  ducking,  bobbing, 
fluttering,  pecking,  and  striking  with  their 
bills  and  the  sharp  spurs  that  grew  on  their 
legs.  It  ended  by  the  White  Cock  stagger- 
ing and  running  away  from  the  blows,  while 
the  other  stood  proudly  where  he  was  and 
crowed  and  crowed  and  crowed. 

The  Young  Cock  did  not  beat  because  he 
understood  the  movements  to  be  made  any 
better  than  the  other.  He  beat  only  because 
he  was  younger  and  stronger.  He  did  not 
look  toward  the  Pullets,  feeling  quite  sure 
that  they  were  looking  toward  him  and  ad- 
miring him.  He  flew  onto  the  top  rail  of  the 
pasture  fence  and  crowed  as  loudly  as  he 
could.  "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"  said  he.  "I 
have  beaten  him !  I  have  beaten  him ! ' ' 

The  Shanghai  Cock  looked  at  him  with 
great  displeasure.  "Something  will  happen 
to  that  young  fellow  some  day,"  said  he, 
"and  after  that  he  will  not  crow  so  much." 

The  Pullets  heard  him  say  this  and  were 


The  Young  Cock  and  the  Eagle   141 

scared.  They  did  not  wish  anything  dread- 
ful to  happen  to  him.  One  of  them  wanted 
to  tell  the  Young  Cock  what  they  had  over- 
heard, but  the  others  would  not  let  her. 

It  was  not  long  after  this,  in  fact  it  was 
before  the  Hens  had  come  out  of  the  large 
open  gate  of  their  yard,  that  the  Young  Cock 
picked  up  and  ate  a  grain  of  corn  which  the 
Shanghai  Cock  had  already  bent  over  to  eat. 
The  older  Cock  did  not  like  this,  and  he  said 
so  very  plainly.  The  Young  Cock  lowered 
his  head  and  looked  the  Shanghai  Cock 
squarely  in  the  eye.  "  If  you  don't  like  my 
way  of  eating,"  he  said  in  his  rudest  tone, 
"  you  can  try  to  punish  me." 

"I  will  try  it  with  pleasure,"  replied  the 
Shanghai  Cock,  and  they  stared  and  ducked 
and  hopped  and  fluttered  and  jumped  and 
struck  at  each  other  with  feet  and  bill,  until 
the  Young  Cock  had  really  beaten  the 
Shanghai.  It  should  have  been  the  other 
way,  yet  it  was  not,  for  the  Shanghai  was 
growing  old  and  fat,  and  could  not  get  around 
so  quickly  as  the  Young  Cock. 


Of  course  the  Pullets  were  glad,  but  nobody 
else  was.  "There  will  be  no  getting  along 
with  him  at  all  after  this,"  the  Hens  said. 
"If  he  had  been  well  beaten  for  once,  he 
might  have  learned  manners."  They  paid 
no  attention  to  the  Cocks  who  were  beaten, 
for  that  would  not  be  thought  polite  among 
fowls.  Instead,  they  walked  about  as  usual, 
pretending  that  they  had  not  noticed  what 
was  going  on,  and  twisting  their  necks,  lifting 
their  feet,  and  dusting  themselves  in  the  most 
matter-of-fact  way. 

The  Young  Cock  flew  onto  the  fence  again. 
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!"  said  he.  "Cock-a- 
doodle-doo!  I  can  beat  them  all!  I  can 
beat  them  all ! "  He  strutted  back  and  forth 
there  for  a  time,  and  then  flew  to  the  top  of 
the  old  carriage-house.  Here  he  strutted  and 
crowed  and  crowed  and  strutted,  while  the 
fowls  in  the  pasture  below  looked  at  him 
and  wondered  how  he  dared  go  so  high. 

Suddenly  the  Shanghai  Cock,  who  had  been 
quietly  trying  to  arrange  his  feathers  after 
the  fight,  saw  a  large,  dark  bird  swooping 


A  LARGE  DARK  BIRD  SWOOPING  DOWN.  Pagf 


The  Young  Cock  and  the  Eagle    143 

down  from  the  sky  and  gave  a  queer  warn- 
ing cry.  " Er-ru-u-u-u-u ! "  he  said.  "Run! 
Run!" 

The  White  Cock  spoke  at  almost  the  same 
time.  "  Er-ru-u-u-u-u !  Run!  Run!" 

Then  all  the  Hens  and  Pullets  put  down 
their  heads  and  ran  as  fast  as  they  could  for 
the  poultry-house,  which  was  near.  The 
Shanghai  Cock  and  the  White  Cock  waited 
to  let  them  pass,  and  then  followed  in  after 
them.  It  is  a  law  among  fowls  that  the  Cocks 
must  protect  the  Hens  from  all  danger. 

Because  these  two  had  to  wait  so  long  for 
the  Hens  and  Pullets  to  get  inside,  they  were 
still  where  they  could  see  quite  plainly  when 
the  bird,  a  large  Eagle,  swooped  down  to  the 
roof  of  the  carriage-house  and  caught  the 
Young  Cock  up  in  his  talons.  The  Young 
Cock  had  not  seen  him  coming  until  he  was 
almost  there.  He  had  been  too  much  in- 
terested in  watching  the  fowls  on  the  ground 
below.  When  he  saw  the  Eagle  it  was  too 
late  to  get  away. 

As  the  Eagle  flew  upward  once  more,  all  the 


144          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

fowls  ran  out  to  watch  him.  They  could  see 
the  Young  Cock  struggling  as  the  sharp  talons 
of  the  Eagle  held  him  tightly.  "Poor  fel- 
low!" said  the  Pullets.  The  Cocks  were  wise 
enough  to  keep  still.  The  Hens  murmured 
something  to  themselves  which  nobody  else 
could  understand.  Only  the  Plymouth  Rock 
Hen  said  very  much  about  it,  and  that  was 
because  she  had  children  to  bring  up.  One 
of  the  Young  Cock's  tail-feathers  floated 
down  from  the  sky  and  fell  into  their  yard. 
"  Leave  it  right  there,"  she  said.  "  Leave  it 
there^and  every  time  you  look  at  it,  I  want 
you  to  remember  that  the  Cock  to  whom  it 
belonged  might  now  be  having  a  pleasant 
time  on  this  farm,  if  he  had  not  been  quarrel- 
some and  bragged." 


THE  GUINEA-FOWLS  COME  AND  GO 

IT  was  only  a  few  days  after  the  Young  Cock 
had  been  carried  away  by  the  Eagle,  that 
the  Man  drove  back  from  town  with  a  very 
queer  look  upon  his  face.  A  small  crate  in 
the  back  end  of  the  light  wagon  contained 
three  odd-looking  fowls.  The  Little  Girls 
left  their  mud  pies  and  ran  toward  the  wagon. 
When  they  saw  the  crate,  they  ran  into  the 
house  and  called  their  mother  to  come  out 
also. 

"What  have  you  now?"  said  she,  as  she 
stepped  onto  the  side  porch. 

' '  Guinea-fowls, ' '  answered  the  Man.  * '  Just 
listen  to  this  letter."  He  drew  it  from  his 
pocket  and  read  aloud:  "I  send  you,  by  ex- 
press, a  Guinea-Cock  and  two  Guinea-Hens. 
They  were  given  to  me,  and  I  have  no  place 
for  keeping  them.  I  remember  hearing  that 

IO 

145 


146          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

they  are  excellent  for  scaring  away  Crows,  so 
I  send  them  on  in  the  hope  that  they  may  be 
useful  to  you.  If  you  do  not  wish  to  keep 
them,  do  what  you  choose  with  them." 

As  he  read  three  small  and  perfectly  bald 
heads  were  thrust  through  the  openings  of 
the  crate  and  turned  and  twisted  until  their 
owners  had  seen  everything  around.  "I 
don't  know  anything  about  Guinea-fowls," 
said  the  Man,  "but  I  will  at  least  keep  these 
long  enough  to  find  out.  I  have  seen  the 
Crows  fly  down  and  annoy  the  Hens  several 
times,  and  it  may  be  that  these  are  just  what 
we  need." 

He  took  the  crate  down  and  opened  it 
carefully.  The  three  fowls  that  walked  out 
looked  almost  exactly  alike.  All  had  very 
smooth  and  soft  coats  of  black  feathers 
covered  with  small  round  white  spots.  They 
were  shaped  quite  like  Turkeys,  but  were 
much  smaller,  with  gray-brown  legs,  and 
heads  which  were  not  feathered  at  all.  The 
skin  of  their  faces  and  necks  was  red,  and 
they  had  small  wattles  at  the  corners  of 


The  Guinea-Fowls  Come  and  Go    147 

their  mouths.  Bristle-like  feathers  stood  out 
straight  around  the  upper  part  of  their  necks, 
and  below  these  were  soft  gray  feathers  which 
covered  the  neck  and  part  of  the  chest. 
They  walked  directly  toward  the  barnyard, 
where  some  of  the  farm  fowls  were  picking 
up  an  early  dinner.  "Ca-mac!"  said  they 
"Ca-mac!  Ca-mac!  We  want  some  too." 

Now  the  farm  fowls  were  not  especially 
polite,  not  having  come  of  fine  families  or 
been  taught  good  manners  when  they  were 
Chickens,  yet  they  did  not  at  all  like  to  have 
newcomers  speak  to  them  in  this  way. 
They  noticed  it  all  the  more,  because  when 
the  White  Plymouth  Rocks  came  they  had 
acted  so  very  differently.  They  stepped  a 
little  to  one  side,  giving  the  Guinea-fowls 
enough  room  in  which  to  scratch  and  pick 
around  as  they  had  been  doing,  but  they  did 
not  say  much  to  them. 

The  Gobbler  was  strutting  back  and  forth 
among  the  smaller  fowls.  He  disliked  living 
with  them  as  much  as  he  had  to  now,  but  the 
Hen  Turkeys  would  have  nothing  to  say  to 


148          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

him  because  he  annoyed  their  Chicks.  They 
went  off  with  their  children  and  left  him  alone, 
and,  as  he  wanted  company  of  some  sort,  he 
took  what  he  could  get.  He  thought  it  might 
be  a  good  plan  to  make  friends  with  the 
Guinea-fowls. 

"Good-morning,"  said  he.  "Have  you 
come  here  to  stay?" 

"We  shall  stay  if  we  like  it,"  answered  the 
Guinea-Cock.  "We  always  do  what  we  like 
best." 

"  Humph ! "  said  the  Shanghai  Cock  to  him- 
self. "Remarkable  fowls!  Wonder  what 
the  Man  will  think  about  that." 

"  I  hope  you  will  like  it,"  said  the  Gobbler, 
who  was  so  lonely  that  he  really  tried  hard 
to  be  agreeable.  "  I  understand  quite  how 
you  feel  about  doing  as  you  like.  I  always 
prefer  to  do  what  I  prefer." 

"We  do  it,"  remarked  one  of  the  Guinea- 
Hens,  as  she  chased  the  Brown  Hen  away 
from  the  spot  where  she  had  been  feeding, 
and  swallowed  a  fat  Worm  which  the  Brown 
Hen  had  just  uncovered. 


The  Guinea-Fowls  Come  and  Go    149 

"Yes,"  said  the  other  Guinea-Hen,  "I 
guess  we  are  just  as  good  as  anybody  else." 

"Is  there  plenty  to  eat  here?"  asked  the 
Guinea-Cock. 

"Plenty,"  answered  the  Gobbler.  "It  is 
much  better  than  it  used  to  be.  There  is  a 
new  Man  here,  and  he  takes  better  care  of  his 
fowls  than  the  Farmer  did.  He  does  n't 
carry  red  handkerchiefs  either." 

"  I  don't  care  what  kind  of  handkerchiefs 
he  carries,"  said  the  Guinea-Cock.  "What 
makes  you  talk  about  such  things?" 

"You  would  know  what  makes  me  speak 
of  them  if  you  were  a  Gobbler,"  was  the  an- 
swer. "  I  cannot  bear  red  things.  I  cannot 
even  eat  my  corn  comfortably  when  any- 
thing red  is  around.  You  see  it  is  quite 
important.  Anything  which  spoils  a  fellow's 
fun  in  eating  is  important." 

"  Nothing  would  spoil  my  fun  if  I  had  the 
right  sort  of  food,"  remarked  the  Guinea- 
Cock.  Then  he  turned  to  the  Guinea-Hens. 
"Come,"  he  said.  "We  have  eaten  enough. 
Let  us  walk  around  and  see  the  place." 


150          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

All  three  started  off,  walking  along  where- 
ever  they  chose,  and  stopping  to  feed  or  to 
talk  about  what  they  saw.  Anybody  could 
tell  by  looking  at  them  that  they  were  related 
to  the  Turkeys,  but  the  Gobbler  had  not 
cared  to  remind  them  of  that.  He  was  look- 
ing for  more  company  during  the  time  when 
his  own  family  left  him  so  much  alone.  He 
knew  that  before  very  long  the  Turkey  Chicks 
would  be  too  large  to  fear  him,  and  that  when 
that  time  came,  their  mothers  and  they  would 
be  willing  to  walk  with  him.  Then  he 
would  have  less  to  do  with  the  other  poultry, 
and  might  not  want  three  bad-mannered 
Guinea-fowl  cousins  tagging  along  after  him. 

Whenever  the  three  met  another  fowl, 
they  talked  about  him  and  said  exactly  what 
they  thought,  and  if  they  passed  a  Hen  who 
had  just  found  a  choice  bit  of  food,  they 
chased  her  away  and  ate  it  themselves. 
Sometimes  they  even  chased  fowls  who  were 
not  in  their  way  and  who  were  not  eating 
things  that  they  wanted.  It  seemed  as 
though  they  had  simply  made  up  their  minds 


The  Guinea-Fowls  Come  and  Go    151 

to  do  what  they  wanted  to  do,  whenever  and 
wherever  they  wished.  They  did  not  make 
much  fuss  about  it,  and  if  you  had  seen  them 
when  they  were  doing  none  of  these  mean 
things,  you  would  have  thought  them  very 
genteel.  You  would  never  have  suspected 
that  they  could  act  as  they  did. 

The  Gander  and  the  Geese  passed  near  the 
Guinea-fowls  and  the  Guinea-fowls  did  not 
chase  them.  They  were  not  foolish  enough 
to  annoy  people  so  much  larger  than  they. 
It  is  true  that  the  Hens  were  larger  than  they, 
yet  the  Guinea-fowls  could  make  them  run 
every  time.  If  they  had  troubled  the  Geese, 
it  might  have  ended  with  the  Guinea-fowls 
doing  the  running.  And  the  Guinea-fowls 
were  cowards.  They  would  never  quarrel 
with  people  unless  they  were  sure  of  beating. 

' '  S-s-s-s-s-s-s ! ' '  said  the  Gander.  ' '  Are  we 
to  have  that  sort  of  people  on  this  farm? 
If  we  are,  I  would  rather  live  somewhere  else. 
I  do  not  see  why  there  should  be  any  dis- 
agreeable people  anyway." 

"  There  should  not  be,"  said  the  Geese,  who 


152          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

always  agreed  with  everything  the  Gander 
said,  and  who  really  believed  as  he  did  about 
this.  "Disagreeable  people  should  be  sent 
away,  or  eaten  up,  or  something." 

Both  the  Gander  and  the  Geese  thought 
themselves  exceedingly  agreeable,  and  so 
they  were — when  everything  suited  them. 
At  other  times  they  were  often  quite  cross. 
Many  people  act  like  this,  and  seem  to  think 
it  very  sweet  of  them  not  to  be  cross  all  the 
time.  Truly  agreeable  people,  as  you  very 
well  know,  are  those  who  can  keep  pleasant 
when  things  go  wrong. 

"Ca-mac!"  said  the  three  Guinea-fowls 
together.  "There  are  some  of  those  stupid 
Geese,  who  are  always  walking  around  and 
eating  grass  that  is  too  short  for  anybody 
else.  They  eat  grass,  and  grow  feathers  for 
Farmers'  Wives  to  pluck  off.  When  we  have 
gone  to  the  trouble  of  growing  a  fine  coat  of 
feathers,  we  keep  them  as  long  as  we  wish, 
and  then  they  drop  out,  a  few  at  a  time.  If 
anybody  wants  our  feathers,  he  must  follow 
around  after  us  and  pick  them  up." 


The  Guinea-Fowls  Come  and  Go    153 

Before  night  came,  the  Guinea-fowls  had 
met  and  annoyed  nearly  all  the  poultry  on 
the  place.  They  had  even  made  dashes  at 
the  smallest  Chickens  and  frightened  them 
dreadfully.  The  Man  had  been  too  busy  to 
see  much  of  the  trouble  that  they  made,  but 
his  Little  Girls  noticed  it,  for  they  had  been 
watching  the  Guinea-fowls  and  hoping  to 
find  some  of  their  beautiful  spotted  feathers 
lying  around.  When  the  Little  Girls  were 
eating  their  supper  of  bread  and  milk,  they 
told  their  father  about  it. 

"They  walk  around  and  look  too  good 
for  anything,"  said  the  brown-haired  one, 
"but  whenever  they  get  a  chance  they  chase 
the  Hens  and  the  Chickens." 

"Yes,"  said  the  golden-haired  Little  Girl, 
"I  even  saw  one  of  them  scare  the  Barred 
Plymouth  Rock  Hen,  the  one  who  ate  bread 
and  salt  with  you." 

"  That  is  very  bad,"  said  the  Man,  gravely. 
"Any  fowl  that  troubles  the  Barred  Ply- 
mouth Rock  Hen  must  be  punished." 

"What  will  you  do  to  them?"  asked  the 


154          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

golden-haired  Little  Girl.  "  I  think  you  will 
have  to  shut  them  up.  You  could  n't  spank 
them,  could  you  ?  Not  even  if  you  wanted  to 
ever  so  much." 

"  I  shall  decide  to-night  how  to  punish 
them,"  said  the  Man,  "and  then  in  the  morn- 
ing we  will  see  about  it."  When  he  spoke  he 
did  not  know  how  much  time  he  would  spend 
in  thinking  about  the  Guinea-fowls  that  night. 

When  it  was  time  for  them  to  go  to  roost, 
the  Guinea-fowls  fluttered  and  hopped  up- 
ward until  they  reached  quite  a  high  branch 
in  the  apple-tree  by  the  Man's  chamber  win- 
dow. Then,  instead  of  going  to  sleep  for  the 
night,  as  one  would  think  they  would  wish  to 
do,  they  took  short  naps  and  awakened  from 
time  to  time  to  visit  with  each  other.  It  is 
true  that  they  had  seen  much  that  was  new 
during  the  day,  and  so  had  more  than  usual 
to  talk  about,  but  this  was  really  no  excuse, 
because  they  had  the  habit  of  talking  much 
at  night  and  would  have  been  nearly  as  noisy 
if  nothing  at  all  had  happened. 

The  Man  was  just  going  to  sleep  when  they 


The  Guinea-Fowls  Come  and  Go    155 

awakened  from  one  of  their  naps  and  began 
to  chat.  "Ca-mac!  Ca-mac!"  said  one.  "  I 
suppose  those  stupid  fowls  in  the  poultry- 
house  are  sound  asleep,  with  their  heads 
tucked  under  their  wings.  What  do  you 
think  of  the  company  here?" 

"Good  enough,"  said  another.  "I  don't 
like  any  of  them  very  much,  but  you  can't 
expect  Geese  and  Ducks  to  be  Guinea-fowls. 
We  don't  have  to  talk  to  them.  The  Gobbler 
is  trying  to  be  agreeable,  and  when  the  Hen 
Turkeys  can  think  of  any  thing  besides  their 
children  we  may  find  them  good  company." 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  that  there  are  so  many 
Hens  here,"  said  the  third.  "The  Man 
throws  out  their  grain  and  then  we  can  scare 
them  away  and  eat  all  we  want  of  it.  What 
fun  it  is  to  see  Hens  run  when  they  are 
frightened!" 

After  this  short  visit  they  went  to  sleep 
again,  and  so  did  the  Man.  But  they  went 
to  sleep  much  more  quickly  than  he  did,  and 
he  was  very  tired  and  disliked  being  disturbed 
in  that  way.  He  had  just  fallen  asleep  when 


156          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

one  of  the  Guinea-Hens  awakened  again. 
"  Ca-mac ! ' '  said  she  to  the  others.  "  Ca-mac ! 
Ca-mac!  I  have  thought  of  something  to 
say.  How  do  you  like  the  idea  of  living  on 
this  place?" 

"We  like  it,"  answered  the  Guinea-Cock 
and  the  other  Guinea-Hen.  Then  they  went 
on  to  tell  why  they  liked  it.  They  said  that 
there  were  no  children  of  the  stone-throwing 
kind,  no  Dog,  and  no  Cat.  They  had  plenty 
of  room  for  the  long  walks  which  they  liked 
to  take,  and  there  were  many  chances  to  get 
the  food  which  the  Man  threw  out.  When 
they  had  spoken  of  all  these  things  the  Guinea- 
Cock  said:  "It  is  decided  then  that  we  will 
stay  here  instead  of  running  away  to  another 
farm.  This  is  a  good  enough  place  for  any 
fowl.  Now  let  us  take  another  nap." 

While  they  were  thinking  this,  the  Man 
was  thinking  something  quite  different.  In 
the  morning  while  the  Guinea-fowls  were 
eating  grain  which  had  been  strewn  in  one  of 
the  yards,  the  Man  closed  the  gate,  and, 
helped  by  the  Little  Girls,  drove  the  three 


The  Guinea-Fowls  Come  and  Go    157 

Guinea-fowls  into  a  corner  and  caught  them. 
Then  he  put  them  into  the  crate  in  which 
they  had  come,  and  took  them  across  the  road 
to  the  Fanner  who  lived  there. 

When  this  was  done  there  were  many 
happy  people  left  behind  on  the  poultry-farm. 
The  Little  Girls  were  happy,  because  they  had 
found  four  feathers  which  the  Guinea-fowls 
lost  in  trying  to  get  away  from  the  Man. 
The  Hens  were  happy,  because  they  could 
now  be  more  sure  of  eating  the  food  which 
they  found.  The  other  poultry  were  glad  to 
think  that  they  would  not  have  to  listen  to 
new-comers  saying  such  dreadful  things 
about  them,  and  perhaps  the  Man,  when  he 
came  back,  was  the  happiest  of  all.  "  I  gave 
them  to  the  Farmer  over  there,"  he  said, 
"  and  he  will  give  them  to  a  poor  family  far 
away.  I  have  stopped  keeping  Guinea-fowls 
to  scare  away  the  Crows.  I  would  rather 
keep  Crows  to  scare  away  the  Guinea-fowls, 
but  I  think  we  can  get  along  very  comfortably 
without  either."  And  the  poultry  thought 
so  too. 


THE  GEESE  AND  THE  BABY 

T'HE  Little  Girls  had  gone  to  play  with  a 
•••  new  friend  who  lived  down  the  road, 
and  the  Man  was  working  in  the  farthest  field 
of  the  farm.  The  Baby  had  been  laid  in  the 
crib  for  his  afternoon  nap,  and  his  mother 
went  up-stairs  to  work  at  her  house-cleaning. 
She  thought  that  she  might  possibly  finish 
two  closets  if  the  baby  did  not  awaken  and 
call  her  too  soon.  She  felt  sure  that  she 
would  know  when  he  awakened,  because  she 
left  the  staircase  door  ajar,  and  he  usually 
cried  a  little  as  soon  as  he  got  his  eyes 
open. 

This  time,  however,  the  Baby  slept  only  a 
few  minutes  and  did  not  cry  at  all.  He  had 
grown  a  great  deal  since  he  came  to  live  on 
the  farm,  and  was  becoming  very  strong  and 
independent.  When  he  opened  his  eyes  he 
158 


The  Geese  and  the  Baby         159 

made  no  sound,  but  lay  there  quietly  staring 
at  the  ceiling  until  he  heard  one  of  the  Cocks 
crowing  outside.  He  had  always  wanted  to 
catch  that  tallest  Cock  and  hug  him — he 
looked  so  soft  and  warm — and  now  was  the 
time  to  try  it.  When  his  mother  was  around 
she  sometimes  held  his  dress  or  one  of  the 
shoulder-straps  of  his  little  overalls  and 
would  not  let  him  catch  the  Cock.  He 
would  crawl  out  of  his  crib  alone  and  go  out 
very  quietly  to  try  it. 

The  Baby  pulled  himself  up  by  the  rounds 
of  his  crib,  and  tumbled  over  its  railing  onto 
his  mother's  bed,  which  stood  beside  it. 
From  that  he  slid  to  the  floor.  It  took  him 
only  two  minutes  more  to  get  out  of  the  side 
door  and  down  the  steps.  It  did  not  take 
at  all  long  for  the  steps,  because  he  fell  more 
than  half  the  distance.  If  he  had  not  been 
running  away,  or  if  there  had  been  anybody 
around  to  pity  him,  he  would  have  cried, 
but  to  cry  now  might  spoil  all  his  fun,  so  he 
picked  himself  up  without  making  a  sound 
and  started  for  the  Shanghai  Cock. 


1 60          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

The  Shanghai  Cock  was  on  the  ground 
when  the  Baby  began  toddling  toward  him. 
As  the  Baby  came  nearer  he  began  to  walk  off. 
"I  don't  want  to  be  caught,"  said  he.  "It 
is  bad  enough  to  have  grown  people  catch 
me,  but  it  would  be  worse  to  have  a  Baby 
do  so,  for  he  might  choke  me." 

"Here,  pitty  Chickie!"  said  the  Baby. 
"  Baby  want  oo."  Then  he  tried  to  run,  and 
fell  down  instead. 

The  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  looked  at 
him  pityingly.  "Just  the  way  my  Chickens 
used  to  act  when  trying  to  catch  a  Grass- 
hopper," said  she.  "  It  is  so  hard  for  children 
to  learn  that  they  cannot  have  everything 
they  want." 

When  the  Baby  tumbled,  the  Shanghai 
Cock  stood  still,  and  even  picked  up  a  couple 
of  mouthfuls  of  food.  When  the  Baby  got 
up  again,  the  Shanghai  Cock  moved  on.  At 
last  the  Cock  decided  to  put  a  stop  to  this 
sort  of  game,  in  which  the  Baby  seemed  to  be 
having  all  the  fun,  so  he  flew  to  the  top  of  the 
pasture  fence  and  crowed  as  loudly  as  he 


The  Geese  and  the  Baby         161 

could.  The  Baby's  mother  heard  him  as 
she  worked  busily  upstairs.  "How  loudly 
that  Cock  does  crow!"  said  she.  "I  am 
glad  that  such  noises  do  not  wake  the  Baby. 
He  is  having  a  fine  nap  to-day."  Then  she 
unrolled  another  bundle  of  pieces  and  paid 
no  more  attention  to  the  crowing. 

When  the  Baby  saw  that  he  could  not 
reach  the  Cock,  he  thought  he  would  try  for 
some  of  the  other  fowls.  The  Gobbler  came 
in  sight  just  then  and  he  started  after  him. 
Luckily  he  had  no  red  on,  or  it  might  have 
been  the  Gobbler  who  did  the  chasing, 
"Here,  pitty  Chickiel"  said  the  Baby. 
"Turn,  pitty  Chickie !  Turn  to  Baby." 

It  was  the  first  time  the  Gobbler  had  ever 
been  been  called  a  "pitty  Chickie,"  but  that 
made  no  difference.  He  did  not  want  to  be 
petted  and  he  did  not  want  to  be  caught. 
Baby  might  open  and  shut  his  tiny  fat  hands 
as  many  times  as  he  pleased,  beckoning  to 
him.  The  Gobbler  would  not  come.  "  Gob- 
ble-gobble-gobble!"  said  he.  "Nobody  can 
catch  me  in  daylight,  not  even  with  corn; 


1 62          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

and  surely  nobody  can  catch  me  without  it." 
Then  he  strutted  slowly  away. 

The  Baby  followed,  but  when  the  Gobbler 
pretended  to  lose  his  temper,  stood  all  his 
feathers  on  end,  spread  his  fine  tail,  dragged 
his  wings  on  the  ground,  and  puffed,  the 
Baby  turned  and  ran  away  as  fast  as  he  could. 
Brown  Bess  was  no  longer  in  the  pasture,  and 
the  gate  stood  open.  It  was  through  this 
gate  that  the  Baby  ran,  not  stopping  until 
he  came  within  sight  of  the  river  along  the 
lower  edge  of  the  pasture.  The  water  looked 
so  bright  and  beautiful  that  he  thought  he 
would  go  farther  still.  Perhaps  he  could 
even  catch  some  of  the  Ducks  and  Geese 
that  were  swimming  there.  He  had  seen  his 
sisters  wade  in  the  edge  of  the  river  one  day, 
while  his  father  was  mending  a  fence  near  by. 
He  would  wade,  too. 

You  see  Baby  was  only  two  years  old,  and 
did  not  understand  that  rivers  are  very 
dangerous  places  for  children  to  visit  alone, 
and  worst  of  all  for  Babies  who  toddle  and 
tumble  along.  He  did  not  know  that  if  he 


The  Geese  and  the  Baby          163 

should  tumble  in  that  beautiful  shining  water 
he  might  never  be  able  to  get  up  again,  or 
that  if  he  should  chase  one  of  the  Ducks  too 
far  out,  he  could  not  turn  around  and  come 
back  to  the  shore.  These  things  he  was  not 
old  enough  to  know.  He  did  know  that 
when  he  came  into  the  pasture  with  his 
father  or  mother  and  went  toward  the  river's 
edge,  he  was  always  told,  "No-no!"  This 
he  remembered,  but  that  made  it  seem  all 
the  more  fun  to  go  there  when  there  was  no- 
body by  to  say  it. 

The  Baby  stood  on  a  little  knoll  near  the 
water.  "Here,  pitty  Chickie!"  he  said. 
"Turn  to  Baby,  pitty  Chickie!" 

The  Ducks  paid  no  attention  to  him,  unless 
it  were  to  swim  farther  from  shore  and  keep 
their  heads  turned  slightly  toward  him, 
watching  to  see  what  he  was  about.  With 
the  Geese,  however,  it  was  different. 

Geese  do  not  like  anything  strange,  and  if 
they  cannot  understand  a  thing  they  think 
that  there  is  certainly  something  wrong.  As 
there  is  much  which  they  do  not  understand, 


164         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

the  Geese  are  often  greatly  excited  over  very 
simple  and  harmless  things,  hissing  loudly  at 
those  who  are  strangers  to  them.  Now  they 
could  not  understand  why  the  Baby  should 
stand  on  the  river-bank  and  talk  to  them. 
"S-s-s-s-s!"  said  the  Gander.  "There  must 
be  something  wrong  about  this.  Let  us  get 
out  of  the  water  to  see." 

He  scrambled  up  onto  the  bank,  with  his 
wife  and  the  other  Geese  following  closely 
behind  him.  He  was  a  very  stately  fellow, 
and  looked  as  though  he  could  win  in  almost 
any  fight.  The  Geese  were  stately  too,  but 
their  legs  and  neck  did  not  look  so  strong  as 
his,  and  they  let  him  go  ahead  and  speak  first. 
The  Gander  marched  toward  the  Baby  and 
stood  between  him  and  the  river.  "S-s-s-s- 
s ! "  said  he.  "  What  are  you  doing  here? " 

"Here,  pitty  Chickie!"  said  the  Baby. 
"Turn  to  Baby." 

"  I  cannot  understand  you,"  said  the  Gan- 
der, severely.  "Children  should  speak  so 
that  they  can  be  understood.  I  can  always 
understand  my  own  children."  He  was  very 


The  Geese  and  the  Baby         165 

proud  of  the  brood  of  Goslings  which  he  and 
his  wife  had  hatched.  Perhaps  he  was  even 
more  fond  of  them  because  he  had  done 
almost  as  much  for  them  as  she,  sitting  on 
the  eggs  part  of  the  time  and  standing  beside 
her  while  she  was  sitting  on  them.  Ganders 
are  excellent  fathers. 

"Go  way,  pitty  Chickie!"  said  the  Baby. 
"  Baby  goin'  in  de  watty." 

"  S-s-s-s-s!"  said  the  Gander,  and  this  time 
his  wife  hissed  also.  "  Go  back  to  the  place 
where  you  belong.  This  place  is  for  web- 
footed  people.  I  have  seen  your  feet  un- 
covered, and  you  have  no  webs  whatever 
between  your  toes.  You  do  not  belong  here. 
Go  away!" 

The  Baby  did  not  go  away,  for  he  was  hav- 
ing a  lovely  time.  The  Gander  did  not  come 
any  nearer  to  him  or  act  as  though  he  meant 
to  peck  him,  so  he  just  laughed  and  waved  his 
hands.  "Why  don't  you  go?"  asked  the 
Geese.  "The  Gander  told  you  to  go  away, 
and  you  should  mind  the  Gander.  We 
always  mind  him,  and  so  should  you." 


1 66          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

Still  the  Gander  and  the  Geese  did  not 
come  nearer  to  him,  and  still  the  Baby  was 
not  afraid .  ' '  S-s-s-s-s ! ' '  repeated  the  Gander. 
"We  do  not  want  you  to  swim  in  our  river. 
Your  body  is  not  the  right  shape  for  swim- 
ming with  Geese  and  Ducks.  Your  neck  is 
not  long  enough  for  feeding  in  the  river. 
You  could  never  get  your  mouth  down  to  the 
river-bottom  for  food  without  going  way 
under.  Go  away!  You  will  get  wet  if  you 
go  into  the  water.  I  feel  quite  sure  that  you 
will,  for  you  have  not  nicely  oiled  feathers 
like  ours.  You  will  try  to  catch  our  chil- 
dren and  will  make  us  much  trouble.  Go 
away!" 

Just  then  the  Baby's  mother  called  from 
the  door  of  the  house.  She  had  come  down- 
stairs and  found  the  Baby  gone.  "Baby!" 
said  she.  ' '  Baby !  Where  are  you  ? ' ' 

Baby  did  not  answer,  but  he  turned  to  look 
at  her.  "S-s-s-s-s!"  said  the  Gander  and 
the  Geese  together.  "S-s-s-s-s!  S-s-s-s-s!" 
Then  they  walked  straight  for  him,  and  the 
Baby  started  home  at  last.  His  mother 


"S-S-S-S-S1"  REPEATED  THE  GANDER.  Page  166 


The  Geese  and  the  Baby         167 

heard  and  ran  toward  him  in  time  to  see  it  all. 
She  understood,  too,  that  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  Gander  and  the  Geese,  her  Baby 
would  have  gone  into  the  river.  That  was 
why  she  looked  so  gratefully  at  them  when 
she  reached  him  and  picked  him  up  in  her 
arms  to  hug  and  kiss. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  she  had  been  so 
frightened  that  she  had  to  sit  right  down  on  a 
little  hillock  and  rest.  The  Gander  and  the 
Geese  stood  around  and  wondered  why  she 
made  such  a  fuss  over  the  Baby.  "He  is 
nothing  remarkable,"  they  said  to  each  other. 
"He  certainly  could  not  swim  if  he  had  a 
chance,  and  we  saw  how  often  he  fell  down 
when  he  tried  to  run.  Why  does  she  put  her 
mouth  up  against  his  in  that  way?  There  is 
simply  no  understanding  the  actions  of  peo- 
ple who  live  in  houses." 

There  was  one  sort  of  action  which  they 
could  understand  very  well  indeed.  The 
Little  Girls  came  home  just  then  and  their 
mother  had  them  bring  oats  from  the  barn  to 
scatter  on  the  river.  Then  the  Gander,  with 


1 68          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

his  wife  and  the  other  Geese,  gladly  went 
back  to  the  river  to  feed,  for  there  is  nothing 
which  pleases  Geese  better  than  to  eat  oats 
that  are  floating  on  the  water. 


THE  FOWLS  HAVE  A  JOKE  PLAYED 
ON  THEM 

WHEN  the  Man  first  bought  the  farm 
and  came  to  live  there,  he  could  not 
understand  a  thing  that  his  poultry  said. 
This  made  it  very  hard  for  him,  and  was 
something  which  he  could  not  learn  from  his 
books  and  papers.  You  remember  how  the 
Little  Girls  understood,  better  than  he,  what 
the  Cocks  meant  by  crowing  so  joyfully  one 
day.  It  is  often  true  that  children  who  think 
much  about  such  things  and  listen  carefully 
come  to  know  what  fowls  mean  when  they 
talk. 

The  Man  was  really  a  very  clever  one, 
much  more  clever  than  the  Farmer  who  had 
lived  there  before  him,  and  he  decided  that 
since  he  was  to  spend  much  of  his  time  among 

poultry,  he  would  learn  to  understand  what 
169 


1 70         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

they  were  saying.  He  began  to  listen  very 
carefully  and  to  notice  what  they  did  when 
they  made  certain  sounds.  It  is  quite  sur- 
prising how  much  people  can  learn  by  using 
their  eyes  and  ears  carefully,  and  without 
asking  questions,  too. 

That  was  why,  before  the  summer  was  over, 
the  Man  could  tell  quite  correctly,  whenever 
a  fowl  spoke,  whether  he  was  hungry  or 
happy  or  angry  or  scared.  Not  only  these, 
but  many  other  things  he  could  tell  by  care- 
fully listening.  He  could  not  understand  a 
Hen  in  exactly  the  way  in  which  her  Chick- 
ens understand  her,  but  he  understood  well 
enough  to  help  him  very  much  in  his  work. 
Then  he  tried  talking  the  poultry  language. 
That  was  much  harder,  yet  he  kept  on  trying, 
for  he  was  not  the  sort  of  Man  to  give  up  just 
because  the  task  was  hard.  He  had  been  a 
teacher  for  many  years,  and  he  knew  how 
much  can  be  done  by  studying  hard  and 
sticking  to  it. 

The  Man  was  very  full  of  fun,  too,  since  he 
had  grown  so  strong  and  fat  on  the  farm. 


A  Joke  Played  on  the  Fowls      171 

He  dearly  loved  a  joke,  and  was  getting  ready 
to  play  a  very  big  joke  on  some  of  his  poultry. 

Anybody  who  has  ever  kept  Hens  knows 
how  hard  it  is  to  drive  them  into  the  poultry- 
house  when  they  do  not  wish  to  go.  People 
often  run  until  they  are  quite  out  of  breath 
and  red  in  the  face,  trying  to  make  even  one 
Hen  go  where  she  should.  Sometimes  they 
throw  stones,  and  this  is  very  bad  for  the 
Hens,  for  even  if  they  are  not  hit,  they  are 
frightened,  and  then  the  eggs  which  they  lay 
are  not  so  good.  Sometimes,  too,  the  people 
who  are  trying  to  drive  Hens  lose  their  tem- 
per, and  this  is  one  of  the  very  worst  things 
that  could  happen. 

The  poultry  had  not  paid  much  attention 
to  the  Man  when  he  was  learning  their  lan- 
guage. They  were  usually  too  busy  talking 
to  each  other  to  listen  to  what  he  was  saying. 
Once  the  Shanghai  Cock  said  what  he  thought 
of  it,  however:  "Just  hear  him!"  he  had 
said.  "  Hear  that  Man  trying  to  crow!  He 
does  it  about  as  well  as  a  Hen  would." 

You  know  a  Hen  tries  to  crow  once  in  a 


172          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

while,  and  then  the  Cocks  all  poke  fun  at  her, 
because  she  never  succeeds  well.  All  this 
happened  before  the  Man  had  been  long  on 
the  farm,  and  before  the  Shanghai  Cock  had 
learned  to  like  him.  The  Shanghai  Cock 
would  have  been  very  much  surprised  if  any- 
body had  then  told  him  that  he  would  ever 
be  unable  to  tell  the  Man's  voice  from  that 
of  one  of  his  best  friends. 

Throughout  the  summer  the  fowls  who  had 
always  lived  on  the  farm  were  allowed  to  run 
wherever  they  wished  during  the  day,  and 
were  not  driven  into  the  pen  at  night.  There 
was  always  some  corn  scattered  in  their  own 
yard  for  them  just  before  roosting-time,  and 
they  were  glad  enough  to  stroll  in  and  get  it. 
When  they  finished  eating  they  were  sure  to 
find  the  outer  gate  closed,  and  then  they 
went  inside  the  pen  to  roost.  Now,  however, 
the  days  were  growing  much  shorter  and  the 
nights  cooler,  and  a  Skunk  had  begun  prowl- 
ing around  after  dark.  The  Man  decided 
that  if  he  wanted  to  keep  his  poultry  safe,  he 
must  have  them  in  the  pens  quite  early  and 


A  Joke  Played  on  the  Fowls      173 

shut  all  the  openings  through  which  a  night- 
hunting  animal  might  enter  to  catch  them. 
He  liked  to  attend  to  this  before  he  ate  his 
own  supper,  and  the  poultry  did  not  wish  to 
go  to  roost  quite  so  early.  They  often  talked 
of  it  as  they  ate  their  supper  in  the  yard. 

"I  think,"  said  the  Brown  Hen,  "that 
something  should  be  done  to  stop  the  Man's 
driving  us  into  the  pen  before  we  are  ready  to 
go.  It  is  very  annoying." 

"Annoying?"  said  the  White  Cock,  who 
was  a  great  friend  of  hers.  "  I  should  say  it 
is  annoying  1  I  had  n't  half  eaten  my  supper 
last  night  when  I  heard  him  saying,  'Shoo I 
Shoo!'  and  saw  him  and  the  Little  Girls 
getting  ready  to  drive  us  in." 

"  Well,  you  might  better  eat  a  little  faster 
the  next  time,"  said  the  Black  Hen.  "  I  saw 
you  fooling  around  when  you  might  have 
been  eating,  and  then  you  grumbled  because 
you  had  n't  time  to  finish  your  supper." 

"  I  would  rather  fool  around  a  little  than 
to  choke  on  a  big  mouthful,  the  way  you  did," 
replied  the  White  Cock,  who  did  not  often 


1 74          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

begin  a  quarrel,  but  was  always  ready  to 
keep  it  up.  "I  was  hungry  all  night,"  he 
added. 

"It  is  so  senseless,"  said  the  Brown  Hen. 
"  He  might  just  as  well  drive  us  in  after  we 
have  had  time  enough  for  our  supper,  or  even 
wait  until  we  go  in  without  driving.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  not  to  go  to-night  until  I 
am  ready." 

"  What  if  they  try  to  drive  you? "  asked  the 
White  Cock. 

"  I  will  run  this  way  and  that,  and  flutter 
and  squawk  as  hard  as  I  can,"  replied  the 
Brown  Hen. 

The  Black  Hen  laughed  in  her  cackling 
way.  "I  will  do  the  same,"  said  she.  "It 
will  serve  the  Man  right  for  trying  to  send  us 
to  roost  so  early.  I  think  he  will  find  it 
pretty  hard  work." 

The  White  Cock  would  make  no  promises. 
He  wanted  to  see  the  Hens  run  away  from  the 
Man,  but  thought  he  would  rather  stand 
quietly  in  a  corner  than  to  flutter  around. 
He  was  afraid  of  acting  like  a  Hen  if  he  made 


A  Joke  Played  on  the  Fowls      175 

too  much  fuss,  and  no  Cock  wishes  to  act 
like  a  Hen. 

The  Shanghai  Cock  felt  in  the  same  way. 
"  I  am  too  big  for  running  to  and  fro,"  said  he, 
"  but  I  will  keep  out  of  the  pen  and  watch  the 
fun." 

He  had  hardly  spoken  these  words  when 
the  Man  and  the  Little  Girls  came  into  the 
yard  and  closed  the  gate  behind  them.  The 
poultry  kept  on  eating,  but  watched  them  as 
they  ate.  Suddenly  the  Brown  Hen  picked 
up  a  small  boiled  potato  that  she  had  found 
among  the  other  food,  and  ran  with  it  in  her 
bill  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  yard.  The 
Black  Hen  ran  after  her  and  the  other  Hens 
after  them.  The  Cocks  remained  behind  and 
watched. 

The  Man  and  the  Little  Girls  tried  to  get 
between  the  Hens  and  the  farthest  side  of  the 
fence.  The  Hens  would  not  let  them  for 
a  while,  but  kept  running  back  and  forth 
there,  until  the  potato  had  fallen  to  pieces 
and  been  trampled  on  without  any  one  hav- 
ing a  taste.  When  the  Man  and  the  Little 


1 76          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

Girls  finally  got  behind  the  Hens,  the  Little 
Girls  spread  out  their  skirts  and  flapped  them 
and  the  Man  said,  "Shoo!  Shoo!" 

Then  the  Hens  acted  dreadfully  frightened, 
and  the  Cocks  began  to  turn  their  heads 
quickly  from  side  to  side,  quite  as  though 
they  were  looking  for  a  chance  to  get  away. 
They  were  really  having  a  great  deal  of  fun. 
Whenever  the  Man  thought  that  he  had  them 
all  ready  to  go  into  the  open  door  of  the  pen, 
one  of  the  Hens  would  turn  with  a  frightened 
squawk  and  flutter  wildly  past  him  again  to 
the  back  end  of  the  yard,  and  then  the  Man 
would  have  to  begin  all  over.  Several  of  the 
Hens  dropped  loose  feathers,  and  it  was  very 
exciting. 

"Well,"  said  the  Shanghai  Cock,  as  the 
Man  went  back  the  fifth  time  for  a  new  start, 
"I  think  that  Man  will  leave  us  alone  after 
to-night." 

"Yes,"  said  the  White  Cock,  who  was 
standing  near  him,  ' '  I  think  we  are  teaching 
him  a  lesson." 

He  spoke   quite    as    though   he   and   the 


A  Joke  Played  on  the  Fowls       177 

other  Cock  were  doing  it,  instead  of  just 
standing  by  and  watching  the  Hens.  But 
that  is  often  the  way  with  Cocks. 

After  the  Man  had  tried  once  more  and 
failed,  he  certainly  acted  as  though  he  was 
ready  to  give  up  the  task.  He  walked  to  the 
back  end  of  the  yard,  took  off  his  hat,  and 
wiped  his  forehead  with  his  handkerchief. 
The  Little  Girls  stood  beside  him,  and  he 
picked  up  a  feather  to  show  them.  It  was  a 
wing-feather,  and  he  was  showing  them  how 
the  tiny  hooks  on  each  soft  barb  caught  into 
those  on  the  next  and  held  it  firmly. 

The  poultry  watched  him  for  a  while  and 
then  began  eating  once  more.  They  thought 
him  quite  discouraged. 

The  Shanghai  Cock  and  the  White  Cock 
were  standing  far  apart  when  somebody 
called  "  Er-ru-u-u-u-u ! "  which  is  the  danger 
signal.  As  soon  as  he  heard  it,  each  Cock 
thought  that  the  other  had  spoken,  and 
opened  his  bill  and  said,  "Er-ru-u-u-u-u!" 
in  the  same  tone,  even  before  he  looked 
around  for  a  Hawk  or  an  Eagle. 


1 78         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

Every  Hen  in  the  yard  ducked  her  head 
and  ran  for  the  door  of  the  pen  as  fast  as  her 
legs  would  carry  her.  The  Cocks  let  the  Hens 
go  ahead  and  crowd  through  the  doorway  as 
well  as  they  could,  but  they  followed  closely 
behind.  They  were  hardly  inside  when  the 
door  of  the  pen  was  closed  after  them  and 
they  heard  the  Man  fastening  it  on  the 
outside. 

"Wasn't  that  a  shame!"  said  the  Brown 
Hen,  who  always  thought  that  something  was 
a  shame.  "  We  did  n't  finish  our  supper 
after  all!" 

"I  know  it,"  said  the  White  Cock.  "It 
happened  very  badly,  and  all  that  running 
had  made  me  hungry." 

"What  was  the  danger?"  asked  the 
Shanghai  Cock.  "I  had  no  time  to  see 
whether  it  was  an  Eagle  or  a  Hawk 
coming." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  the  White 
Cock.  "  If  I  had  given  the  alarm  which  took 
all  my  friends  from  their  supper  into  the  pen, 
I  think  I  would  take  time  to  see  what  the 


A  Joke  Played  on  the  Fowls      179 

danger  was.  Can't  you  tell  one  kind  of  bird 
from  another?" 

"I  can  if  I  see  them,"  answered  the 
Shanghai  Cock,  rather  angrily.  "I  did  not 
see  this  one.  I  looked  up  as  soon  as  you  gave 
the  cry,  but  I  saw  nothing.  I  repeated  the 
cry,  as  Cocks  always  do,  but  I  saw  nothing." 

"Now  see  here,"  said  the  White  Cock,  as 
he  lowered  his  head  and  looked  the  Shanghai 
Cock  squarely  in  the  eyes,  "you  stop  talking 
in  this  way !  You  gave  the  first  warning  and 
you  know  it.  I  only  repeated  the  call." 

"I  did  not,"  retorted  the  Shanghai  Cock, 
as  he  lowered  his  head  and  ruffled  his  feathers. 
"  You  gave  the  warning  and  I  repeated  it." 

"  He  did  not,"  interrupted  the  Brown  Hen. 
"  I  stood  right  beside  him,  and  I  know  he  did 
not  give  the  first  call." 

"Well,"  said  the  Barred  Plymouth  Rock 
Hen,  "  I  was  standing  close  to  the  Shanghai 
Cock,  and  I  know  that  he  did  not  give  the 
first  call."  (Her  Chickens  were  now  so 
large  that  they  did  not  need  her,  and  she  had 
begun  running  with  her  old  friends.) 


1 80         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

Then  arose  a  great  chatter  and  quarrel  in 
the  pen.  Part  of  the  Hens  thought  that  the 
White  Cock  gave  the  first  warning,  and  part 
of  them  thought  that  the  Shanghai  Cock  did. 
Everybody  was  out  of  patience  with  some- 
body else,  and  all  were  scolding  and  finding 
fault  until  they  really  had  to  stop  for  breath. 
It  was  when  they  stopped  that  the  Speckled 
Hen  spoke  for  the  first  time.  She  had  never 
been  known  to  quarrel,  and  she  was  good- 
natured  now. 

"I  believe  it  was  the  White  Plymouth 
Rock  Cock  in  the  other  yard,"  said  she. 
"Why  did  n't  we  think  of  that  before? " 

"Of  course!"  said  all  the  fowls  together. 
"  It  was  certainly  the  White  Plymouth  Rock 
Cock  in  the  other  yard."  Then  they  laughed 
and  spoke  pleasantly  to  each  other  as  they 
began  to  settle  themselves  for  the  night. 
"  We  might  as  well  go  to  roost  now,"  they  said, 
"  even  if  it  is  a  bit  early.  All  that  running 
and  talking  was  very  tiring." 

But  it  was  not  the  White  Plymouth  Rock 
Cock  who  had  said  "Er-ru-u-u-u-u!"  He 


A  Joke  Played  on  the  Fowls       181 

and  his  Hens  had  run  into  their  pen  at  the 
same  time,  and  had  been  shut  in.  Only  the 
Man  and  the  Little  Girls  knew  who  it  really 
was,  and  they  never  told  the  poultry. 


THE  LITTLE  GIRLS  GIVE  A  PARTY 

LATE  in  the  fall,  when  the  Man  began  to 
talk  of  shutting  the  poultry  into  their 
own  yards  for  the  winter,  there  came  a  few 
mild  and  lovely  days.  The  Little  Girls  had 
been  playing  out-of-doors  in  their  jackets, 
but  now  they  left  them  in  the  house  and  ran 
around  bare-headed,  as  they  had  done  during 
the  summer.  All  the  poultry  were  happy 
over  the  weather,  and  several  said  that,  if 
they  thought  it  would  last  long  enough,  they 
would  like  to  raise  late  broods  of  Chickens. 
The  fowls  had  finished  moulting,  and  had 
fine  coats  of  new  feathers  to  keep  them  warm 
through  the  winter.  The  young  Turkeys 
looked  more  and  more  like  their  mothers,  for 
they  were  already  nearly  as  large  as  they 
ever  would  be.  The  Goslings  and  the  Duck- 
lings had  grown  finely,  and  boasted  that  their 
182 


The  Little  Girls  Give  a  Party     183 

legs  and  feet  began  to  look  rougher  and  more 
like  those  of  the  old  Geese  and  Ducks.  The 
Chickens  were  all  White  Plymouth  Rocks  this 
year,  and  the  tiny  red  combs  which  showed 
against  the  snowy  feathers  of  their  heads 
made  them  very  pretty.  Even  the  Hens 
who  had  cared  for  them  since  they  were 
hatched  would  not  have  had  them  any  other 
color,  although  at  first  they  had  wished  that 
their  Chickens  could  look  more  like  them. 

In  the  barn  all  was  neat  and  well  cared  for. 
The  Man  had  made  Brownie  a  warm  box- 
stall,  so  that  he  need  not  be  tied  in  a  cool  and 
narrow  place  whenever  he  stood  in  the  barn, 
but  might  turn  around  and  take  a  few  steps 
in  any  direction  he  chose.  There  was  plenty 
of  fine  hay  in  the  loft  for  him,  and  the  place 
where  Brown  Bess  and  her  Calf  were  to  stand 
had  also  been  made  more  comfortable.  There 
were  great  bins  filled  with  grain  for  the  poul- 
try, and  another  full  of  fine  gravel  for  them 
to  eat  with  their  meals.  They  had  no  teeth 
and  could  not  chew  their  food,  you  know, 
so  they  had  to  swallow  enough  gravel,  or  grit, 


1 84         Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

for  their  stomachs  to  use  in  grinding  it  and 
getting  the  strength  out.  In  another  place 
was  a  great  pile  of  dust  for  winter  dust- 
baths. 

Everything  was  so  well  prepared  for  cold 
weather  that  it  seemed  almost  funny  to  have 
warm  days  again.  And  just  at  this  time  the 
Little  Girls  had  a  birthday.  Not  two  birth- 
days, you  understand,  but  one,  for  they  were 
twins  and  were  now  exactly  six  years  old. 
They  were  plump  and  rosy  Little  Girls,  and 
very  strong  from  living  so  much  out-of-doors. 
Each  had  a  new  doll  for  a  birthday  gift,  and 
the  funniest  part  of  it  was  that  the  brown- 
haired  Little  Girl  had  a  brown-haired  doll  and 
the  golden-haired  Little  Girl  had  a  golden- 
haired  doll.  That  made  it  easy  to  tell  which 
doll  was  which,  just  as  the  difference  in  hair 
made  it  easy  for  their  parents  to  tell  one  twin 
from  the  other. 

When  they  first  awakened  they  were  given 
birthday  kisses  instead  of  birthday  spanks, 
six  apiece  for  the  years  they  had  lived,  a  big 
one  on  which  to  grow,  and  another  big  one  on 


The  Little  Girls  Give  a  Party     185 

which  to  be  good.  After  the  breakfast  dishes 
were  washed  and  put  away,  their  mother 
made  two  birthday  cakes  for  the  Little  Girls 
and  put  six  candles  on  each.  With  all  this 
done  for  them,  one  would  certainly  expect 
the  Little  Girls  to  be  perfectly  happy.  But, 
what  do  you  think?  They  could  not  be  per- 
fectly, blissfully  happy,  because  they  were 
not  to  have  a  party. 

Every  year  before  this,  as  far  back  as  they 
could  remember,  they  had  been  allowed  to 
have  a  party,  and  this  year  they  could  not 
have  it,  because  they  were  living  on  a  farm 
and  there  were  no  other  children  who  could 
come.  It  is  true  that  there  were  two  others 
living  quite  near,  but  these  two  had  the 
measles  and  could  not  go  to  parties.  By  the 
time  they  were  over  the  measles,  the  birthday 
would  be  long  past,  and  so  the  Little  Girls 
were  disappointed. 

It  was  when  the  brown-haired  Little  Girl 
was  telling  her  doll  about  the  last  year's 
party,  and  the  golden-haired  Little  Girl's  eyes 
were  filling  with  tears,  that  their  mother  had 


1 86          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

a  bright  idea.  She  would  not  tell  them  what 
it  was,  but  asked  them  to  care  for  the  Baby 
while  she  went  out  to  talk  with  the  Man  in 
the  barn. 

When  she  came  back  she  told  them  that 
they  might  have  a  party  after  all  and  invite 
the  poultry  to  come.  "I  think  it  will  be 
great  fun,"  said  she,  "and  I  am  sure  they 
have  never  been  to  a  birthday  party  in  their 
lives." 

How  happy  the  Little  Girls  were  then! 
The  Man  had  put  a  very  large  box  just  in 
front  of  the  poultry-yards  where  the  White 
Plymouth  Rocks  were  kept,  so  that,  by 
crowding  into  the  corners,  the  Chickens  on 
one  side  of  the  separating  fence  and  the  Cock 
and  Hens  on  the  other  could  come  quite  near 
to  the  box.  Inside  the  big  box  was  another 
which  was  to  be  their  table,  and  a  couple  of 
milking  stools  on  which  they  were  to  sit. 
The  Baby's  chair  was  to  be  brought  when  he 
came. 

Of  course  it  seemed  a  long  time  to  wait 
until  afternoon,  when  the  party  was  to  come 


The  Little  Girls  Give  a  Party     187 

off.  If  there  had  not  been  so  much  to  do,  the 
Little  Girls  certainly  could  not  have  been 
patient.  It  was  wonderful  how  many  things 
their  mother  could  suggest.  In  the  first  place, 
they  had  to  write  a  few  invitations  to  pin  up 
where  the  fowls  could  see  them.  Then  they 
had  to  go  over  to  the  edge  of  the  woods  and 
hunt  all  along  the  roadside  to  find  late  flowers, 
bits  of  brake,  and  autumn  leaves,  with  which 
to  trim  their  box  and  the  table.  After  that 
they  took  pans  and  got  grain  for  their  guests 
from  the  bins  in  the  barn.  These  they  car- 
ried to  the  big  box  and  placed  on  the  table 
inside.  It  was  not  long  afterward  that  the 
brown-haired  Little  Girl  found  the  Black 
Hen  and  the  White  Cock  eating  from  these 
pans.  " Oh,  shoo!"  she  cried,  running  as  fast 
as  she  could  toward  them  and  flapping  her 
skirts.  "Shoo!  Shoo!  It  is  n't  time  for  you 
to  come,  and  you  must  n't  eat  up  the  party 
yet." 

The  other  twin  feared  that,  after  being 
frightened  away  in  this  fashion,  these  two 
fowls  would  not  want  to  come  at  the  proper 


1 88          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

time,  but  she  need  not  have  worried.  Fowls 
are  always  glad  to  come  to  a  good  supper, 
and  there  is  much  more  danger  of  their  com- 
ing too  early  and  staying  too  late  than  there 
is  of  their  not  coming  at  all.  After  that  the 
pans  of  grain  were  carried  into  the  house 
to  wait  until  the  right  time. 

In  the  afternoon  the  twins  and  their  dolls 
came  out  to  the  big  box  which  they  pre- 
tended was  their  house.  The  open  side  of  it 
was  toward  the  poultry-yards,  and  there  was 
plenty  of  room  between  for  the  fowls  who 
were  running  free  to  come  in  and  get  their 
food.  The  Little  Girls  had  wanted  to  put 
on  their  Sunday  dresses,  but  their  mother 
told  them  that  she  did  not  think  it  would  be 
really  polite  to  the  poultry,  who  had  to  wear 
the  very  same  feathers  that  they  had  on  every 
day.  So  the  Little  Girls  contented  them- 
selves with  having  their  hair  done  up  on  top 
of  their  heads  and  bows  of  yellow  tissue 
paper  pinned  on  the  knots.  This  made 
them  feel  very  fine  indeed,  and  as  though 
being  six  years  old  were  almost  the  same  as 


The  Little  Girls  Give  a  Party     189 

being  grown  up.  They  had  some  beautiful 
red  tissue  paper  which  they  wanted  to  use, 
but  when  they  remembered  how  the  Gobbler 
felt  about  red,  they  decided  to  use  the  yellow 
instead.  And  that  was  both  wise  and  kind. 
One  should  always  try  to  make  guests  happy. 

The  Baby  was  not  to  come  out  until  supper- 
time,  so  the  Little  Girls  and  their  dolls 
played  quite  alone  for  a  while.  There  was 
much  to  tell  and  to  show  the  dolls,  for  it  was 
the  first  time  they  had  ever  been  on  a  farm, 
and  everything  must  have  seemed  strange  to 
them. 

"Do  you  see  that  tall  White  Plymouth 
Rock  Cock  over  there?"  said  the  brown- 
haired  twin  to  hers.  "  My  Father  says  he  is 
the  most  vallyoobol  fowl  on  the  farm.  He 
cost  a  lot  of  money.  I  asked  Father  if  he 
paid  as  much  as  ten  cents  for  him,  and  he 
said  he  paid  a  great  deal  more.  Just  think  of 
that!  More  than  ten  cents!  You  must  be 
very  polite  to  him." 

"I  will  show  you  our  kindest  Hen,"  said 
the  golden-haired  twin  to  her  doll.  "  She  is 


igo          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

coming  this  way  now.  She  is  the  Barred 
Plymouth  Rock  Hen,  and  she  is  a  peticullar 
friend  of  my  Father's.  She  did  n't  cost  so 
much  as  some  of  the  others,  but  she  is  very 
good." 

"And  there  comes  the  Speckled  Hen," 
said  the  brown-haired  twin.  "  She  does  n't 
lay  many  eggs,  but  my  Father  says  that  she 
is  the  best  Hen  on  the  farm  about  taking  care 
of  lonely  or  sick  Chickens.  She  is  very  small, 
but  she  spreads  herself  out  so  she  can  cover 
a  lot,  and  then  she  cuddles  them  until  they 
are  happy  again,  and  can  run  around  with 
her  and  eat  the  Worms  she  scratches  up  for 
them." 

There  is  no  telling  how  much  more  the  dolls 
might  have  learned  about  their  new  neigh- 
bors, if  the  Baby  and  the  mother  of  the  Little 
Girls  had  not  come  out  just  then.  The  Baby 
was  put  in  his  chair  in  the  big  box  and  given 
a  cracker  to  eat,  while  the  Little  Girls  stood 
outside  and  called  to  their  company. 

"Come,  Chick,  Chick,  Chick!"  they  called. 
"Come,  Chick,  Chick,  Chick!" 


The  Little  Girls  Give  a  Party     191 

From  far  and  near  the  Hens  came  running, 
with  lowered  heads  and  hurrying  feet,  to  seize 
the  food  which  they  knew  would  be  given 
them  after  that  call.  The  Shanghai  Cock 
and  the  White  Cock  followed  more  slowly,  as 
was  their  habit.  The  Gander  waddled  gravely 
along  from  the  farthest  corner  of  the  pasture 
in  which  the  poultry-house  stood,  with  his 
wife  and  the  other  Geese  following  solemnly 
behind  him.  The  Turkeys,  all  together  once 
more  since  the  children  were  so  large,  came 
with  rather  more  haste  from  the  roadside, 
where  they  had  been  hunting  acorns.  And 
down  by  the  river  the  Ducks  and  their  chil- 
dren could  be  seen  scrambling  up  onto  the 
bank  and  shaking  themselves.  All  were  glad 
enough  to  come  to  the  party  as  soon  as  they 
were  sure  it  was  time,  but  whether  they  had 
understood  the  invitations  which  had  been 
pinned  around  for  them  to  read — well,  who 
can  tell  about  that? 

The  Man  came  from  the  barn  to  see  the  fun, 
and  he  and  the  Woman  set  the  two  birthday 
cakes  from  her  basket  onto  the  table.  After 


192          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

she  had  done  that,  she  had  to  pay  more 
attention  to  the  Baby,  who  kept  trying  to 
reach  them  with  his  fat  little  hands.  The 
Man  handed  a  pan  of  corn  to  each  of  the 
Little  Girls.  "Wait  until  the  Ducks  get 
here,"  he  said.  "  They  must  have  their  share 
and  there  is  plenty  of  time." 

The  brown-haired  Little  Girl  felt  that  those 
who  were  waiting  should  be  amused  in  some 
way,  so  she  began  to  talk  to  them.  "  This  is 
our  birthday  party,"  she  said,  "and  we  are 
very  glad  you  did  n't  have  the  measles,  so 
you  could  come  A  party  is  something  to  eat 
when  you  are  dressed  up  and  have  company. 
We  have  some  corn  for  you  because  you  like 
that  best,  but  if  you  are  good  and  polite  you 
may  have  some  of  our  cake,  too." 

By  this  time  the  Ducks  were  there,  and 
each  Little  Girl  began  flinging  handfuls  of 
corn  out  to  the  poultry.  Some  of  it  was 
thrown  into  the  yards  where  the  White  Ply- 
mouth Rocks  were  kept,  and  the  rest  fell 
between  the  yards  and  the  big  box.  One 
cannot  say  very  much  for  the  manners  of  the 


The  Little  Girls  Give  a  Party     193 

company,  yet  it  is  quite  certain  that  they  had 
a  good  time.  When  they  had  settled  down 
to  eating  quietly,  the  Man  lighted  the  candles 
on  the  birthday  cakes  and  the  Woman  passed 
a  plate  of  bread  and  butter  sandwiches  to  the 
three  happy  children  around  the  table.  The 
dolls  did  not  seem  to  be  hungry,  but  they 
must  have  enjoyed  it  very  much,  for  they 
smiled  all  the  time,  even  when  nobody  was 
speaking  to  them. 

The  Man  and  the  Woman  sat  on  a  couple  of 
old  Chicken-coops  by  the  open  side  of  the  big 
box,  and  said  what  a  fine  day  it  was,  and  how 
good  everything  tasted,  and  what  a  very  large 
party  it  was.  The  Baby  laughed  a  great  deal 
and  said  "Pitty!  Pitty!"  every  time  a  soft 
breeze  made  the  candle-flames  dip  and 
waver.  The  most  exciting  time  came  when 
the  candles  burned  low  and  had  to  be  blown 
out  by  the  Little  Girls,  with  the  Baby  helping. 

Then  the  cakes  were  cut,  and  the  Man  and 
the  Woman  and  the  three  children  in  the  box 
all  had  a  share.  The  dolls  were  not  forgotten, 
but  even  after  they  had  been  fed  there  was 


194          Tales  of  a  Poultry  Farm 

much  remaining.  The  Barred  Plymouth 
Rock  Hen  stepped  daintily  up  to  the  box  and 
stood  with  her  left  foot  lifted. 

"My  friend,  the  Hen,  is  hinting  that  we 
should  pass  the  cake  to  the  other  guests," 
said  the  Man,  "and  I  think  we  should." 

The  Little  Girls  helped  to  cut  it  into  small 
pieces,  and  then  the  whole  family,  Baby,  and 
all,  stood  in  the  sunshine  and  threw  the  frag- 
ments to  the  eager  poultry,  while  the  dolls 
looked  on.  The  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen 
walked  inside  the  box  and  picked  up  the 
many  crumbs  around  the  table,  while  the 
other  fowls  fluttered  and  ran  for  the  pieces 
outside.  The  Black  Hen  always  picked  for 
the  largest,  and  the  rest  chased  her.  Their 
manners  were  certainly  bad,  but  it  was  the 
first  birthday  party  they  had  ever  attended, 
and  perhaps  it  is  not  strange  that  they  were 
excited  and  greedy. 

When  the  last  crumb  had  been  thrown  out 
and  not  even  the  Black  Hen  could  find  an- 
other scrap,  the  Man  and  his  family  turned 
toward  the  house.  The  sun  was  already  low 


The  Little  Girls  Give  a  Party     195 

in  the  sky,  and  the  air  grew  cooler  as  night 
drew  near.  It  reminded  the  Man  that  winter 
was  coming.  "  It  has  been  a  happy  sum- 
mer," he  said,  "  a  busy  and  happy  summer. 
I  am  strong  again,  and  the  work  has  gone 
well.  I  have  a  fine  lot  of  fowls,  and  I  am 
fond  and  proud  of  them.  I  think  they  de- 
serve a  party  once  in  a  while." 

"  It  was  the  very  nicest  party  we  ever  had," 
said  the  Little  Girls.  "We  ought  to  invite 
the  poultry  every  time." 

The  Barred  Plymouth  Rock  Hen  mur- 
mured softly  as  she  walked  along  behind 
them. 

"  She  thinks  so  too,"  said  the  Man. 

THE  END. 


